You see it all the time these days. Players with their hands over their mouths at the end of matches, masking even the most banal of pleasantries from prying eyes. Not wanting to say anything that could be reported. Not wanting to let anyone in.
A generation or two ago, writers such as Gay Talese would hang out with global stars such as Floyd Patterson and hear the former heavyweight champion call himself a coward, describe how it felt to be knocked out, and even accompany him to his daughter’s school to see him confront the bullies who kept lifting up her skirt. And that all happened on the same day.
