“Trash talking,” he clarifies. “I get rattled. I was able to keep it under wraps for a few seasons, but it just got worse until it came to a head at the end of last season, and…things didn’t end well.”
“I see.”
“Do you follow hockey, Dr. Mackey?”
I shake my head. I don’t watch as many sports as a person who studiessport communication should, and hockey was never at the top of my list.
“So then you don’t know how my last season with Tampa Bay ended.”
“No.”
He exhales deeply. “Long story short, I imploded in the playoffs. My contract was up, and they decided not to renew me. Since then, word has gotten around about my issue, and other teams are reluctant to pick me up. Only Mr. Kaladin was willing to take a chance on me, and I can’t disappoint him. He’s the one who gave me your name and suggested I contact you.”
“Suggested?” I ask.
“He said it was my choice to put in the work or not. He wants me to take responsibility for the issue, so here I am.”
“I don’t understand what you need from me,” I say. “I’m a Professor of Communication. I’m not a sport psychologist. I’m not even a regular psychologist. I have no clinical background. Surely you have a sport psychologist on staff who can help you with this.”
He scoffs. “We do, but he has no idea how to help me. Everyone knows trash talk happens, but their attitude is to suck it up and ignore it.”
“So exactly what do you want me to do for you, Mr. Gunnarsson?”
“You know how trash talk works. Can’t you…” He waves a large hand in the air as if he’s flourishing a magic wand. “Fix me?”
I let out a small laugh. “You want an intervention.”
He frowns. “You mean like…you’d get all my teammates together and have them tell me how much they need me and shit?” He closes his eyes. “Please just don’t tell me we all have to hug, because there’s no way I’m hugging Mack or Kingston.”
“No, nothing like that,” I say. “An intervention in social science is when we design a strategy or action to adjust a behavior that addresses a problem. Essentially, it’s an attempt to intervene and alter an existing dynamic. We deal in inoculations and interventions. If we want to prevent a certain behavior from starting, we inoculate against it. If we need to stop or alter a behavior that’s already happening, we design an intervention.”
His face scrunches as he tries to wrap his head around my scholar-speak. “So…it would fix me,” he says finally, interpreting my words.
I open my mouth to say it’s not that simple but decide against it. “Sure. If successful, an intervention would fix you,” I say instead.
He brightens, and for the first time since he arrived, he looks almost as if he’s about to smile.
“Great. So when can we do this?” he asks. “How long will it take?”
I sigh as I realize he’s misunderstood.
Despite its pervasiveness in competitive activities, trash talk is understudied. I found precious few scholastic articles on it when I did my study. Only philosophers had a lot to say about it, and most of that was an attempt to argue the immorality of the practice.
My own study really just established what most people already knew: trash talk can negatively affect the performance of its target. There were a few other key points, but that was the primary one, and thanks to my university’s stellar PR department, I became big news.
None of this qualifies me to psychologically treat a professional athlete, though.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but you misunderstand. I don’t have an intervention for you. Interventions have to be designed and tested. They can take months at minimum, if not years. There’s no intervention that currently exists for dealing with trash talk.”
His face falls again, and his eyes go soft. “Please,” he says, holding out his hands as if to make me see reason. “You have to help me. Hockey is my life, and I’m in danger of losing everything I’ve worked for.”
My heart twists, and I feel like I just kicked a six-and-a-half-foot puppy. I want to take it all back and promise to fix him.
“Even if I had something that could help you,” I say, trying to hold on to my resolve, “the semester just started. I have classes, advising, and university service. Do you have any idea how many committees I’m on?”
He doesn’t, and I’m sure he doesn’t care, but I’m trying to convince myself more than him that I don’t have time for this.
He leans back to fish in the pocket of his pants, and I’m treated to a view of his groin thrusting my way, which is just cruel. He pulls out a business card and hands it to me.
