Writing Boots

On communication, professional and otherwise.

Ten Years Later, and Still a Lot Left to Lose

01.07.2026 by David Murray // Leave a Comment

The opening and conclusion of my dispatch from the 2016 Republican National Convention, first published here July 22 of that year. I’ve reposted this many times over the last decade—mostly, because I don’t know what else to say. —DM

CLEVELAND—I had a couple of beers before heading over to the Quicken Loans Arena, where alcohol was only served in the private suites. So when I saw a guy with an “America First” sign, I felt just loose enough to ask, “If America’s first, who will be second?”

“The rest of the world!” the guy shouted happily.

We’ve seen what happens when one nation sets itself against the rest of the world.

My dad fought in Europe, in World War II. He wound up in Berlin, and what he saw there, and the rotting death he smelled there, he didn’t say much about when he returned. He said so little, in fact, that his steel-executive father, on a fact-finding trip to assess what it would take to make German industry work again, was shocked by the total demolition and human degradation he saw, two years after the end of the war.

“Bud,” my grandfather said to my dad when he got back. “You didn’t tell me.”

My dad’s response was, “How could I have?”

When Adolf Hitler had spoken to the German people during the Great Depression 15 years earlier, he had convinced them they had nothing to lose. The currency was worthless, the country was secretly controlled by Jews and had been unfairly treated by all its neighbors, and it was time to take drastic measures. Many Germans must have been skeptical that he could deliver them from such dire straights, but even when it’s a drunk who knocks on your door at midnight and tells you your house is on fire, you’re susceptible, however skeptical, to suggestion.

By 1945, the German people realized they’d had far more to lose, back in the early 1930s, than they’d thought. Despite their troubles, they’d still had everything to lose …

We each—still—have everything to lose.

Categories // Uncategorized

On AI: When the Young Are Resisting the Tech, You Better Hear Them Out

01.06.2026 by David Murray // Leave a Comment

My very young daughter asked her Aunt Susy, “Do you have Snap Chat?”

Susy replied, “Is it time for snacks yet?”

But if the worm is turning against AI, it’s not us deaf and tech-ignorant oldsters rolling it, as much as it is the kids. Or so it seems in my wee corner of the world.

Yes, a dear friend of the Professional Speechwriters Association and a fellow middle-ager Jim Reische, firmly rebutted a sunny white paper we put out on how AI could lead to a golden age of speechwriting.

“Good writing depends on good thinking,” Jim began:

And good thinking comes from doing work that the AI advocates claim is unstrategic: unworthy of our talents and limited, precious (to them and to us, in different measure) time. Work that, in the doing of it, also produces the valuable and sometimes enjoyable byproduct of natural human relations. Doing this supposed scut-work often leads to a conversation with a co-worker who has information we need; a librarian or archivist who can help us with our research; a barista or bus driver on the way to the office. None of which transpires when we outsource the tasks to AI. Once that occurs, it’s just a matter of sitting in our lonely offices crafting prompts, then helping the machines to connect with other machines and present us with their conclusions.

And of course I myself share that basic instinct, though I am obligated to help communicators explore the professional applications of AI at the behest of their bosses and under intense pressure from The Whole World. (We’ve started a working group on the subject and are offering a new and updated version of our very popular AI for Speechwriting & Executive Communication workshop in the spring.)

But I’m more interested in the resistance of young people—the sorts who traditionally drag their elders into the tech future. Now, it seems, many of them feel dragged by us. A normally mild-mannered young Facebook connection recently delivered a violent “shame on you, David Murray” post because I was offering the AI workshop. She loudly lamented what I and my ilk are doing to creative people, and the world’s water supply.

More quietly, I heard through the grapevine that a young participant at the recent PSA World Conference enjoyed the conference but scratched her head at all the AI enthusiasm expressed by the middle-agers on the stage and in the audience. I got in touch with her and she confirmed: “Some of the other younger writers and I had lively conversations at the conference about wanting to do the hard work—leaf through a research paper, call up an expert, stare at a blank page and wait, and wait. I think we don’t want to feel cheated out of the magic of writing.”

And you know what? In my response to Reische’s piece, I remembered feeling the same, when I was her age:

I’m a tech foot-dragger going way back—back to the first years of my career, when I had just learned how to write kickers, heads, subheads, leads and nut graphs to drag readers kicking and screaming into the articles I was writing. And suddenly all these propeller heads were telling me I should put lots of “hyperlinks” into my articles, to give readers portals through which to leave the article, to explore other areas of the endlessly growing World Wide Web.

Ummm, fuck that!

Such bellowing led to comms tech guru Shel Holtz dubbing me, in my twenties, “The World’s Youngest Curmudgeon.”

All to say, as we prepare to eat another year of the future whether we’re hungry for it or not, I understand all of these points of view: the AI optimist, the AI pragmatist, the AI resistor and the AI hater. And I don’t disagree with any of them. Who will seem wiser in two years or five years or 10 or 20? We’ll find out. Until then, I and my colleagues will do our best to give AI adopters the help they ask for—and the others, voice they deserve. The young, especially.

Categories // Uncategorized

A Real Nutcracker: The Greatest Football Game I Never Saw

12.22.2025 by David Murray // Leave a Comment

Watching a 1980 Browns-Bengals game that I missed on account of my mom was taking my sister and me  to The Nutcracker on a frigid Ohio Sunday 45 years ago yesterday.

God, damn.

It was a very important game in a very important season, for me—the “Kardiac Kids” year, and the year I fell in love with sports, and the Browns.

The last of the season and one game after a total last-minute heartbreak on the frozen tundra in Minneapolis. Now we’re on the frozen turf in Cincinnati.

As I finally watch it now on YouTube tonight, it suddenly feels like it is a very important game. Important to the inner sixth-grader who still powers my soul.

Important to the Browns, too. They need to win to make the playoffs.

Maybe that’s why, on the Bengals’ first drive, Browns’ safety Thom Darden almost beheaded Bengals’ receiver Pat McInally in a hit that would rank decades later as one of the dirtiest hits of all time.

E-MAIL SUBSCRIBERS, VISIT WRITING-BOOTS.COM TO VIEW VIDEO.

“We’re going to require a stretcher to remove McInally from the field,” NBC play-by-play man Dick Enberg says, before trying to explain Darden’s vicious hit. “And when you get in a game of such importance … these men have been playing since July to ready themselves for a potential playoff … Thom Darden, who’s a fine man, one of the most likable guys you’d ever wanna meet, he like every one of the Browns, they all know how important it is for them to win … I’m sure if he had it to do all over again, he would not have done it quite that way.”

McInally is still lying on the field, more than 10 minutes later.

Soon after play resumes, color commentator Merlin Olsen worries whether Thom Darden will be able to get over McInally’s apparently profound injury. “I’m certain, again … had he been given an opportunity to go back and hit McInally in a different way, he certainly would have done it, because, even if the blow was a very aggressive one, and even a vicious one, I’m sure it was unintentional.”

The Bengals come away from their long opening drive with a field goal by placekicker Jim Breach, who Enberg has mockingly told us, has a men’s shoe size of six.

Enberg, after a commercial break: “As the Browns take the field, a quick word on Pat McInally, confirmed that it is a neck injury. X-rays are being undertaken at the moment.”

There is hatred in this Bengals’ team that goes far deeper than what just happened to Pat McInally. The Bengals were founded by Paul Brown. Paul Brown, who had first founded the Browns in 1948 and made them almost as proud, in their day, as the New York Yankees or the Boston Celtics. And then was fired in 1963 by a new Browns owner named Art Modell who would go on to move the Browns out of Cleveland to Baltimore, and put them in purple fucking uniforms. Anyway, every Bengals game against the Browns has been a revenge game, and this one is a big one.

And so the vengeful Bengals defense stops the Browns. The Browns stop the Bengals. The Bengals stop the Browns. My mom and sister and I were probably being seated at about this point, by the ushers at E.J. Thomas Hall.

Back at Riverfront Stadium, Enberg addresses a nutty stunt from NBC the day before: an “annoucerless” Saturday game between the mediocre Miami Dolphins and the beleaguered New York Jets. What did a game without announcers show Enberg, about how essential he and his ilk were to the experience of watching sports? Enberg: “Basically, my feeling was this: It made me realize, Merlin, that we have a tremendous responsibility. We’re a necessary element, and we have to work harder than we do.”

The Bengals are driving under their backup quarterback Jack Thompson, “the Throwin’ Samoan.” Who is now down after a hard hit, wobbly and struggling to get off the field in time for a punt. 

After one quarter, Bengals lead, 3-0.

Browns quarterback Brian Sipe throws a wonderful long pass to lanky Dave Logan, which Logan runs to the Bengals 20 yard line. Only to have the usually reliable Sipe fumble the ball back to the Bengals on the very next play.

Where is the Sugar Plum Fairy when you need him or her?

And now the Bengals drive to score a touchdown to make it 10-0. A nutcracker, indeed.

Enberg: “Pat McInally, what a good picture that is! Hallelujah.”

E-MAIL SUBSCRIBERS, VISIT WRITING-BOOTS.COM TO VIEW VIDEO.

The Browns are holding onto their own asses, on their own end. Now they are across the fifty. Near the forty. And a 42-yard bomb from Sipe to Reggie Rucker, easy score. “And with seven minutes six seconds left in the first half, the Cincinnati Bengals 10, and the Browns seven.”

The Bengals’ drive fails and who comes in to punt but Pat McInally, who is the Bengals’ punter as well as a receiver. He gets vaguely “roughed” by the Browns and fake-limps off the field with an Irish smile on his face as the Bengals retain possession of the ball. 

(Are you agreeing with me that this game is getting a little weird?)

The Bengals and Browns trade a few blows and it looks like the first half is about to end. But a late Browns punt bounces off a Bengal’s leg and the Browns take over at the Bengals’ nine yard line with 34 seconds left in the half. An incomplete pass. “Twenty-nine seconds left,” Enberg says. Another incomplete pass; third down, with 24 seconds remaining. The third-down pass: also incomplete. But straight-ahead kicker Don Cockroft boots one through and ties the game at 10. We go to the half.

A wee Browns kick returner named Dino Hall—5’7”!—brings the second-half kickoff back to the Bengals’ 48.

Oh God. Bengals’ cornerback Ray Griffin intercepts a Sipe pass and returns it 54 yards for a Bengal touchdown. Bad guys lead, 17-10.

I wonder if Mom, also surely bored at the Akron fucking ballet, snuck a drink at intermission. I would have, if I was her. (And I am, right now.)

And Sipe hits wide receiver Ricky Feacher on another bomb, to tie the game again.

The Bengals start to drive but the Browns intercept a pass and threaten now. Sipe completes another long touchdown pass to Ricky Feacher. Browns lead, 24-17.

The camera alights on “Arthur Modell,” as Enberg calls him, who “watches with intense interest. Not only the pride of championships or playoffs but the financial matters also associated with a victory today.”

McInally is back in the game at wide receiver; makes a big catch for a first down before  the Bengals’ drive bogs down and McInally has to punt. They do seem to be asking a lot of this lad.

The Browns offer a weak punt and the Bengals take over at the Browns’ 38-yard-line. They drive to the Browns’ 15 yard line, creating an easy field goal opportunity for “little Jim Breach,” who misses with a duck-snort smother hook to the left. Browns still lead, 24-17.

“Wasn’t many years ago that if you showed up on the field with gloves on your hands, they called you a sissy,” the retired defensive lineman Olsen points out, after a begloved Browns’ receiver Willis Adams drops a Sipe pass. “But most of the receivers, most of the linemen and plenty of the linebackers on cold days now wear a new kind of glove that really does allow for a good grip on the football.” Sissies.

Sipe is sacked for a huge loss, the Browns have to punt and the teams go back to exchanging blows. This game is not going to resolve itself easily.

The Throwin’ Samoan throws a game-tying touchdown bomb to … wait for it … Pat McInally. “An incredible catch … for a touchdown!” Enberg yells. “Oh my!”

In the annals of compelling regular season games in NFL history, this one is unjustly forgotten. Was everybody at the fucking Nutcracker on this day?

Browns drive into Cincinnati territory and punt. Cincinnati drives to the Browns’ 34 yard line. Was I begging my mom to put the game on the Subaru radio by this point? If so, I heard that the resurrected Pat McInally just caught another pass, down to the Browns’ 22. And now who but the game’s Most Villainous Player Thom Darden intercepts a pass, returning it to the 31 yard line. This game!

Now Sipe throws an interception. The Bengals punt. The Browns drive—there’s around five minutes left in the game. They’re down to the Bengals’ 18 with three minutes left. Now to the four yard line. Kicker Cockroft comes in with 1:29 left to try a 19-yard field goal. It’s good.

Injured Bengals’ starter Ken Anderson comes in to try to lead the Bengals on a last-minute drive. After several completions, Anderson has the Bengals down to the Browns’ 34. He completes a pass to the Browns’ 14 but time runs out, “And the Browns are in the playoffs!” Enberg exults, calling them “the most romantic team in the National Football League.”

In two weeks, the most romantic team will be eliminated from the playoffs by the least romantic team, in one of the bitterest days in Cleveland’s hemlockian sports history.)

But this victory was as sweet as a sugar plum. I’m sorry I missed it.

Categories // Uncategorized

  • « Previous Page
  • 1
  • …
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
  • 6
  • 7
  • …
  • 1469
  • Next Page »

Now Available for Pre-Order

Pre-Order Now

SIGN UP TO RECEIVE BLOG UPDATES

About

David Murray writes on communication issues.
Read More

 

Categories

  • Baby Boots
  • Communication Philosophy
  • Efforts to Understand
  • Happy Men, and Other Eccentrics
  • Human Politicians
  • Mister Boring
  • Murray Cycle Diaries
  • Old Boots
  • Rambling, At Home and Abroad
  • Sales Mode
  • Sports Stories
  • The Quotable Murr
  • Typewriter Truths
  • Uncategorized
  • Weird Scenes Inside the Archives

Archives

Copyright © 2026 · Log in

  • Sign Up for Blog Updates
  • About David Murray
  • About Soccer Dad
  • Pre-order Soccer Dad