As a former campus journalist who now works in professional sports media, I often get asked about the transition from writing about intramural games to covering high-stakes athletic competitions. Let me share something I wish someone had told me when I was starting out: sports writing isn't just about reporting scores—it's about capturing the human spirit behind the competition. I remember covering my first college basketball tournament and realizing that the most compelling stories weren't about who won or lost, but about the athletes' personal journeys and motivations. This brings to mind Javee Mocon's recent statement that perfectly illustrates what separates good sports writing from great: "There's always a chip on my shoulder, whatever team, Rain or Shine or Phoenix. I just have to prove, not to anybody, but to myself na I have a value and I can still play at a high level."
That quote contains everything you need to understand about finding compelling narratives in campus sports. When I'm mentoring student journalists, I always emphasize that the best sports stories emerge from understanding athletes' internal motivations rather than just chronicling their external achievements. Mocon's words reveal the universal athlete's mindset—that burning need to prove oneself, not to critics or fans, but to the person in the mirror. In my experience covering campus sports for three years, I found that the most memorable pieces I wrote weren't about championship games but about athletes overcoming personal obstacles. There was this one feature about a swimmer who battled anxiety before every race yet consistently broke school records—that piece got 47% more engagement than our typical game recaps.
The second tip I always stress is developing what I call "empathic observation." This means looking beyond the obvious storylines to find the subtle human moments that reveal character. When Mocon speaks about having value beyond just winning games, he's touching on something fundamental about sports that many campus journalists miss. I've noticed that student reporters often focus too much on statistics—and don't get me wrong, stats matter—but the real connection with readers happens when you can articulate what those numbers mean in human terms. During last year's campus basketball season, I tracked articles that included personal athlete insights versus straight game summaries, and the former received 68% more social shares on average.
What many budding sports writers don't realize is that their campus environment offers unique advantages that professional journalists would envy. You have unprecedented access to athletes between classes, during meals, and in informal settings where their guards are down. I can't count how many great story ideas emerged from casual conversations in the campus coffee shop rather than formal post-game interviews. The third crucial technique is leveraging this proximity to build genuine relationships rather than just treating athletes as subjects. When Mocon talks about proving things to himself, that's the kind of insight that comes from trust and repeated interactions, not one-off press conferences.
My fourth recommendation might surprise you: study sports writing across different eras and platforms. I maintain that reading classic sports journalists like Grantland Rice alongside contemporary Twitter threads from athletes provides the perfect education in how sports storytelling has evolved while maintaining its core purpose. The fundamental human experiences Mocon describes—self-doubt, determination, personal validation—are timeless, but how we convey them changes constantly. I personally dedicate about two hours each week to analyzing different sports writing styles, from 1920s newspaper columns to modern athletic department blogs.
Finally, and this is where many campus journalists stumble, you need to develop your own voice rather than mimicking professional commentators. When I read Mocon's raw, unfiltered statement, I'm reminded that the most powerful sports writing often mirrors the athlete's authenticity. Early in my campus journalism days, I made the mistake of using overly technical language and complex statistics that alienated casual readers. Then I noticed that our most popular sports piece that semester was a simple first-person account by a volleyball player about recovering from injury—it used plain language but conveyed profound emotional truth. Since shifting toward more authentic storytelling, our section's readership has grown by approximately 32% over two academic years.
What makes campus sports writing uniquely powerful is that you're documenting stories as they unfold, often before athletes become polished media personalities. Mocon's candid reflection represents exactly the kind of material that separates memorable campus journalism from generic game coverage. As I look back on my own development, the pieces I'm proudest of aren't necessarily the ones with the most sophisticated analysis, but those that captured genuine moments of athletic vulnerability and determination. The beautiful thing about campus sports is that you're witnessing the formation of character, not just the refinement of skills, and your writing should reflect that layered journey.
