Anatomy of a Misfired Direct Message
There have been enough direct message snafus over Twitter's short lifespan that an instance of a misfired direct message revealing private (newsworthy) information is not exactly news. (For people who don't use Twitter, think of it as an email that is inadvertently sent to the wrong group of people, with a huge list of potential forwards.) Recently ESPN's "Sports Guy" tweeted "moss Vikings," and in the process unwittingly "broke" the store of Randy Moss's trade to the Vikings ("Accidental Tweet Breaks Huge NFL Story"). Again, the direct message snafu isn't exactly earth-shattering news, because it happens so often. (Another recent example here.)
However, Bill Simmons (the guy who sent the direct message in question) wrote a column about his particular misfired direct message that's a great read. His column ("The case of the accidental tweeter") describes in detail how the direct message misfired. Also, the column contains his thoughts on when he puts out breaking news on Twitter, ESPN's policy on tweets, how he often sends tips to fellow journalists, how he deals with sources, how people react to certain Tweets depending on what sort of spin he puts on them, and a whole bunch of other very interesting topics:
Also: there have been many articles saying third party apps can access your direct messages. I have no idea whether or not this is true. I proceed on the assumption that contents of a direct message can be exposed, or that my message may suffer the same fate as Simmons's, minus the public interest of course. In any event, here is one such article: "Twitter Exploit Warning - How Anyone Can Easily Snatch Your Direct Messages."
[As a sidenote, does ESPN's "tweet approval policy" seem cumbersome, or what?]
However, Bill Simmons (the guy who sent the direct message in question) wrote a column about his particular misfired direct message that's a great read. His column ("The case of the accidental tweeter") describes in detail how the direct message misfired. Also, the column contains his thoughts on when he puts out breaking news on Twitter, ESPN's policy on tweets, how he often sends tips to fellow journalists, how he deals with sources, how people react to certain Tweets depending on what sort of spin he puts on them, and a whole bunch of other very interesting topics:
Simmons has a great writing style. I'm neither a sports fan nor a journalist, but by the end of the article, I was dying to know more about the details of his world.Whenever I stumble into relevant information -- it doesn't happen that often -- my first goal is always to assimilate that material into my column (as long as it's not time-sensitive). Sometimes I redirect the information to an ESPN colleague. Sometimes I keep it in my back pocket and wait for more details. It's a delicate balance. I have never totally figured out what to do.
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Complicating matters: Twitter, which exacerbates the demands of immediacy, blurs the line between reporting and postulating, and forces writers to chase too many bum steers. With every media company unabashedly playing the "We Had It First!" game, reporters' salary and credibility hinges directly on how many stories they break. That entices reporters to become enslaved to certain sources (almost always agents or general managers), push transparent agendas (almost always from those same agents or GMs) and "break" news before there's anything to officially break. It also swings the source/reporter dynamic heavily toward the source. Take care of me and I will take care of you.
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In the Twitter era, we see writers repeatedly toss out nuggets of information without taking full ownership. It's my least favorite thing about Twitter (because it's wishy-washy) and one of my favorite things about Twitter (because nonstop conjecture is so much fun for sports fans). We saw it happen during the LeBron saga, the baseball trade deadline, Favre's latest round of "I Might Come Back" … it's just part of following sports in 2010. Call it "pseudo-reporting": telling your audience that you think something happened or that you heard something happened, and somehow that sentiment becomes actual news.
You know what jerk pulled this trick last winter? Me!
I did it with this Dec. 10 tweet: "Hearing that Tom Brady jogged off field after first Miami TD because he broke ribs (plural). Came back wearing a flak jacket."
Hearing that … ?
Is that a report? (Not really.) Am I passing along a rumor? (Actually, no -- a good source gave me that one.) Was there a way I could have sounded more authoritative? (Yeah, probably … but wouldn't it look weird if I wrote "Exclusive report!" or "Breaking news by me!") Did I drop the ball? (Actually, yes. Everyone ignored the information because it seemed like I threw it out there. Brady played with broken ribs for two more weeks before anyone officially reported it.) In retrospect, I should have just presented the tweet more forcefully. With our current social media rules, ESPN would want it to look like this …
"JUST FILED TO ESPN: Tom Brady jogged off field after first Miami TD because he broke multiple ribs. Came back wearing a flak jacket. Confirmed by a source."… and only after I called my editor, Rob King, and told him, "I trust my source, this is accurate, I am going to tweet it, I wanted to give the desk a heads-up." If Rob tells me, "Don't tweet that, I want to talk to you first" or "You have to get a second source or no go," I would hold off. Because that's what ESPN employees are supposed to do.
Also: there have been many articles saying third party apps can access your direct messages. I have no idea whether or not this is true. I proceed on the assumption that contents of a direct message can be exposed, or that my message may suffer the same fate as Simmons's, minus the public interest of course. In any event, here is one such article: "Twitter Exploit Warning - How Anyone Can Easily Snatch Your Direct Messages."
[As a sidenote, does ESPN's "tweet approval policy" seem cumbersome, or what?]
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