For the past four years, I have lived a double life. When I arrived on campus as a wide-eyed freshman, I was simply known as Jeff—a quiet, reserved inhabitant of the notoriously rambunctious Aycock residence hall. But as the year progressed, I came into my comfort zone and started showing more and more people my hidden talent: rapping.
My rap coming-out party came during the Mr. East Campus pageant/talent show at the end of freshman year. If you attended that event and remember a white kid in a pink dress shirt rapping over Dr. Dre’s “Still D.R.E.” instrumental, you saw me in action. I came in second place, although looking back on the night, I’m not sure how momentous that achievement was—one of my competitors tried to win over the audience by lip-syncing “I’m on a Boat” and throwing McDonald’s cheeseburgers into the crowd.
When I rap I take on the identity of Dr. Scholl. No, not because having an imaginary Ph.D. enhances my street cred. Rather, I adopted the name of America’s favorite podiatrist because I stomp on emcees. Dr. Scholl goes out more than Jeff, has more money than Jeff and attracts many more women than Jeff. I try to unleash my alter ego sparingly, but sometimes the two personas blend together. The champagne-soaked, hedonistic universe that Dr. Scholl inhabits has served as my escape from the stresses of Duke life. I draw comfort from pulling seemingly unconnected rhyming words out of thin air and crafting them into a coherent verse.
My love of rap no doubt stems from my broader love of writing. Take into account Dr. Scholl’s penchant for referencing obscure professional athletes—Edson Buddle, anyone?—and it probably comes as little surprise that I have worked for the sports section of The Chronicle since the fall of 2008. There is no greater challenge than telling a captivating story without images.
As both a rapper and a sportswriter, I must constantly find ways to represent sights, sounds and moods using only the 26 letters of the alphabet. Rappers often accomplish the task through simile and metaphor; sportswriters usually don’t have this luxury in a field where clear and concise prose reigns supreme. Page inches in a print section come at a premium, so why write a sentence with 25 words when the same thing can be said in 10?
I’ve spent the past four years trying to master the art of writing descriptively and succinctly at the same time. Sometimes it’s easy to fall into the trap of robotically rehashing the events of a game, but my former editors Ben Cohen and Gabe Starosta held me to a higher standard.
Once I began covering basketball games, I always cringed when my fellow reporters on press row would start their stories well before the final buzzer sounded. The act of hammering away at a keyboard during the action, and potentially missing important details from the game, seemed blasphemous. After being the last person in the pressroom on multiple occasions, however, I eventually understood why they took these shortcuts.
Working for The Chronicle allowed me to lead a double life in another sense. I was a college kid by day and entered the world of professional journalism by night. Based on my four years of part-time experience, I imagine that the grind of sitting in drab media rooms and listening to a tape recorder full of coach-speak night after night would make even the most zealous reporter somewhat cynical. Yet, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that free food contributes immensely to the allure of a career in sports writing. Many media members were more than a little disappointed when the athletic department stopped serving cookies during halftime at Duke men’s basketball games.
Perhaps I decided against working as a journalist after leaving this bubble of Gothic splendor because I don’t want to risk losing the mental spark I get from writing. Although every job comes equipped with its own monotonous tasks, I would never want something so joyful to feel like a burden.
The Chronicle’s sports section gave me a rare opportunity to both cultivate a passion and form valuable relationships along the way. For this I’m extremely grateful. The world will always need storytellers, people with a talent for making newsprint jump off a page. But like any rap artist truly dedicated to the craft, I’m staying underground.
Jeff Scholl is a Trinity senior. He formerly served as sports managing editor of The Chronicle and remains the best DJ on staff. He thanks his classmates who stuck with the sports section all these years.
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