Inside the Competition Between SportsCenter Anchors In the 90's

Not every pairing works. That was the blunt admission at the heart of a conversation about what it was actually like to anchor SportsCenter in the 90s, when ambition was high, the talent pool was deep, and Stuart Scott was playing full-court defense against everyone.

The competition between anchors wasn't abstract. One of the voices in the conversation made no secret of wanting the chair. Not just any chair either, but Keith's chair. "I didn't make any secret of it," the anchor said, explaining that Stuart was angry about it. "It wasn't anything against Stuart. I love the guy." The explanation continued: there was a lifestyle question too, a reluctance to stay up until four in the morning, and a pull toward trying to do what sounded like the impossible. When the job went to Kenny instead, the feeling was simple and direct. "I was crestfallen."

Stuart's reaction to losing that colleague to a different time slot or position was revealing. He didn't offer condolences. "He never even did that with me saying, 'Hey, you know, sorry you didn't get what you wanted.'" His default mode when someone was struggling was to push forward, not acknowledge the wound. "Come on, let's go. Let's go get him." That was Stuart.

The other anchor described a different dynamic with Stuart, one that was entirely competitive from Stuart's side. The read on why was generous: "I think he thought that I was the top dog and he wanted to take down the top dog." That kind of respect, even expressed through challenge, was something to admire. "What he was doing, how he was doing it, when he was doing it, like I had great respect for that."

The basketball court is where that competition stopped being metaphorical.

All the SportsCenter anchors would gather to play, and the invitation came with reassurances. "No, no, we're just going to have fun. We just run up and down." Except when the anchor arrived, Stuart was in full Nike gear, Air Jordans, goggles, headband, sweatband, the entire ensemble. And he picked his colleague up full court.

"He is playing like it's game seven," the anchor recalled, while Jason Jackson, who had extended the casual invitation, offered a helpless defense. "I didn't know Buya was going to pick you up full court."

The frustration built. The anchor was dribbling left-handed going right, getting pressured baseline, and then came the question that got a laugh out of the room. "Where do you want me to score on you?"

Stuart said nothing. Because, as the anchor made clear, there was nothing to say. The point was already being made.

That was what it looked like when the best competed with each other, off the air and in the gym. Not spite, not sabotage. Just two people who refused to let anything be casual when there was something to prove.