here is nothing quite like a media center to stir the juices.
Veterans crave the cold, cavernous space crammed with television monitors, phone lines, and neurasthenic reporters. Neophytes, in contrast, develop hives.
Whether it is in Houston for a shuttle flight or Poland for a papal Mass, the scene is the same across the globe: an unsettlingly large number of people attempt with varying results to cover an event they cannot really see.
(When the pope was healthy, Vatican reporters followed The Schanche Rule, named after the late Don Schanche of The Los Angles Times, who determined that every traveling reporter should leave the local media center and eyeball the pontiff in person once a day.)
Welcome to big-time journalism.
The vast majority of reporters covering major events never get within miles of them. They exist instead in these gigantic holding pens and try to write readable deadline copy against a symphony of cell phones playing the ''William Tell Overture.'' That the reporters produce anything of merit under these circumstances is extraordinary. Yet they rarely have an option.
''Getting into the hall is the equivalent for a reporter of winning the Powerball lottery,'' said Robert Peterson, director of the US Senate press gallery, who was the media ticket czar for the debate last night.
Over at the University of Massachusetts at Boston yesterday, the media center radiated a predictable blend of angst and torpor. Reporters interviewed one another while bomb-sniffing dogs trotted through with their handlers and anchor people did stand-ups in front of television monitors tuned to Jerry Springer. Others swore at their computers, and the rest stared off into space.
Ah, politics.
It was altogether fitting that the media center was located in a hockey rink. (UMass won the Codfish Bowl in '83 and '97. Who knew?) The space captured nicely the warmth and intimacy reporters have come to expect from these homes-away-from-home. In this case, we're talking 32 double rows of tables seating 600 people and 37 television monitors, flanked by 15 booths for local stations.
Peterson, for one, was not impressed. He has worked with the media at these events for a couple of decades and did not like what he saw.
''There should be a minimum of 75-80 televisions,'' he said. ''There aren't enough for people to see. Reporters need to be able to watch closely to see who won the debate and who looked better on TV.
''You'll see a lot more televisions at the other debates. And they will be state of the art - 55-inch projection monitors. These are 27-inch screens.''
Of equal concern to him and other debate veterans was the size of Spin Alley, the designated area in a media center where spin doctors from each camp materialize after a debate to swear that their guy won, scout's honor. A post-debate spin cycle is never pretty, but it descends into mayhem when there is not enough room.
Spin Alley at the UMass media center is roughly the size of a large living room and must accomodate hordes of frenzied reporters from the media center who will storm the area, as well as network reporters with booths in the debate hall who will fight their way toward the fray.
But look at the bright side. Our friends from Anheuser-Busch Cos. created something called the 2000 Presidential Debate Canteen - a capacious white tent full of free eats and beer for anyone with credentials. Sure, this was paid for by dreaded soft money, but it's for a noble cause: a happy media. The place was packed. A word of caution: Don't ever get between the media and free food.
But times have changed. No beer appeared to change hands, just bottled water. If the Anheuser-Busch people were distressed at this abstinence, they didn't show it. They even had a sign up for a Web site called www.beerresponsible.com.
The big news is they had foosball at the canteen. Table hockey and ping-pong, too. This has to be a first at a presidential debate. The ping-pong tables were arresting sights: Each was covered with a giant Budweiser logo. The problem was you couldn't see the white ball against the white of the logo, and, frankly, your game suffered.
No detail was too small for our hosts to address. Once apprised of the situation, they produced purple ping-pong balls.
It's enough to make you believe in corporate contributions.
