Some years ago the London Times, on an exceptionally dull day for news, carried a story which it headlined “Small earthquake in Chile: no damage, no injuries.” That headline won a competition for the most boring headline in newspapers that year, just beating into second place the headline “Cement production rises slightly in Ontario” in the Toronto Globe and Mail. Boring, it is the most hated word in journalism.
The good newspaper editor is almost by definition schizophrenic. He wants to produce a journal which is well-balanced, tries to report both the good and the bad of what is happening, editorializes judiciously, even-handedly dispenses blame and praise, and reflects the cultural best as well as the lower depths of the nation which it serves. Another part of him wants to attract popular attention, sell more newspapers, and appeal to the gut feelings of the man on the Kitty mini-bus and the love of sensation in all of us.
Who can blame the poor editor when his judicious self is roughly pushed aside by his circulation hungry alter ego? For the professional journalist, there can be nothing more galling than the realisation that his paper may be considered too anodyne, too high-brow, too dull and therefore runs an increasing risk of going unread. And there can be nothing more satisfying than evidence of people clamouring for his product and circulation zooming. Thus boredom is to be avoided at all costs.
