Editor's Note: This column appears in the August 30 edition of ESPN The Magazine.

On the night before Boston traded for GP, I had dinner with a Very Important ESPN Executive. I was in a foul mood after spending hours on my cell phone -- a big waste, it turns out -- all because I wanted to break my first news scoop and see my name on ESPN's :28/:58 ticker. You know, something like this:

"ESPN's Bill Simmons reports that the Lakers have traded Gary Payton, Rick Fox and a conditional No. 1 pick to the Celtics for Marcus Banks, Chris Mihm, Chucky Atkins and a Celtics 2005 second-round pick."

GP did get shipped to Boston -- but will he ever don a Celtics uniform?

Sure, you won't bounce your grandkids on your lap telling them about that trade. LA was getting 25% of a 36-W team. Boston was getting a wannabe actor and an over-the-hill point guard nearly eight years removed from his debut in "Eddie." But I didn't care. It was good enough to get me on the ticker. Unfortunately, my sources were saying it wouldn't happen until Friday afternoon, if at all. That gave my competition 18 hours to find out.

"I'm so frustrated," I told the VIEE. "I spent all day on the phone for nothing. Now it's gonna get out."

"That's what our guys go through every day," the VIEE said. "It's a tough job. Tougher than anyone thinks."

He was referring to real reporters, not schmucks like me. But I saw his point. There's a price to pay for getting on that ticker. You never stop working connections, answering calls, chasing tips. You leave your cell on vibrate in movies, send e-mails like a crazed telespammer, twiddle your thumbs for hours. You live in fear that someone else will get something before you. So you keep working those phones.

"I hate this," I told the VIEE. "My head hurts. It's like all that work went into a vortex."

"That's why you have the greatest gig in the world," he said. "You don't have to deal with this stuff."

He was right. It's much safer sitting on the sofa and writing 2,700 words on "Varsity Blues," or trying to figure where Shaq ranks on the Vengeance Scale against Montecore the Tiger, Tupac and Keyser Soze -- two columns I wrote this summer. Still, I was all about the ticker. Just once.

The next morning, I worked the phones like Bud Fox trying to meet Gekko. Finally I got the word: GP was headed to the Celtics. They were announcing the deal at 4 p.m. ET; I could break it at 3:45. That gave me three hours to write a column and break the trade. I finished in two.

During that time, two Boston radio stations reported that a deal "could be in the works" with GP. Suddenly, my scoop was vanishing faster than Ricky Williams. I made more calls, deciding to break the story 30 minutes early. By 3:15, the news piece (along with my column) was on the front page of ESPN.com, with a "BREAKING NEWS" headline and a lead that started, "An NBA source tells ESPN.com's Bill Simmons that ... "

Beautiful. I beat everybody -- and had a column up, too. My editor called to thank me. Dad called to congratulate me. I felt like breaking out a cigar, and I don't even smoke those things. At 3:28, I turned on ESPNEWS to see my name on the ticker. Even TiVoed it.

And that's when things turned. They didn't use my name in the news flash, only "ESPN.com reports ... " Thanks, guys. Then I learned that a Boston radio station was reporting that the trade wasn't done yet. Repeat: not done yet.

Uh-oh.

Imagine how Sammy Sosa felt after his corked bat cracked?

I always wondered how Sammy Sosa felt when his corked bat exploded. Now I knew. This was a nightmare of Elm Street proportions. I started dialing like crazy. Nobody picked up. Please, God, this can't be happening. And then, finally ...

"Hey."

"What'sgoingonisthetradeoffwhyhasn'titbeenannouncedyetI'm
havingaheartattackpleasetellmeitwasn'tcalledoff."

"Relax. It's already been called in. Payton is just flipping out, that's all."

"So it's still happening?"

"Still happening. Etch it in stone."

Thirty minutes later, it happened.

I never made the ticker. None of the bastards in Boston gave me credit for anything. Nobody cared.

And that's the thing about breaking these "stories." Unless it's something like "George Steinbrenner to Sell Yankees to P. Diddy," or "Bill Parcells and Richie Anderson to Marry," not many fans give a crap who breaks what. It's not like these things aren't getting announced, anyway. Who cares if Reporter A breaks a story five minutes before Reporters B and C? I certainly don't.

Which raises a bigger question: why did I care so much? Honestly, I have no idea. The Sports Gal thinks I've watched "All the President's Men" one too many times. I just know I'm scheduled for angioplasty next week. Meantime, I'll leave this stuff to the big boys and return to the one place where everything makes sense.

My sofa.

Bill Simmons is a columnist for Page 2 and ESPN the Magazine.