Last winter when I got fired didn’t have my contract renewed, Bill was kind enough to throw some work my way. I’ll spare you most of the details, but he basically said he had three ideas and I could pick one or two or three of them and he would pay me something that seemed fair to both of us.

So far, so good.

Except all three of Bill’s suggested topics are really, really tricky. Tricky as in, I don’t know if I’m actually smart enough to pull this off. Tricky as in, If I do this one, some people I like might stop liking me back. Tricky as in, Maybe I could that one, given a month of research and a quiet cabin in the woods. The deep woods.

Still ... you know: I’m sorta outta work, plus Bill’s Bill. So I chose "the easy one." Which I then spent a couple of months noodling over – trust me, the others were even trickier – and writing nothing at all.

I actually hung out with Bill on Cape Cod a few weeks ago, and it would have been GREAT if I’d presented him with a print-out of my brilliant essay. It would have been good if I’d shared just a few thoughts during our drive from Provincetown to Boston. But I had no essay, or any thoughts worth sharing. I did have a few half-baked thoughts (or one, anyway) but worried that if we got to talking, he might actually write something out loud, thus hijacking anything I might eventually write.

With all that in the historical register, here’s the assigned question: "Should sportswriters write about politics?"

And here, finally, some thoughts...

In one word? Hellno.

Or in one more: Maybe?

See. I told you it’s tricky.

But one way to un-tricky stuff is (as Voltaire advised) to first define our terms. Which I think might get me out of this little conundrum.

When we talk about "politics" we might actually be talking about any one of (at least) three things.

We might be analyzing the history of political campaigns or legislation. American Maelstrom, Michael Cohen’s fine new book about the 1968 presidential campaigns, is a fine example of political history. But when we talk about sportswriters and politics, that’s not what we’re talking about. If Jayson Stark or Jeff Passan wants to write an essay about the impact of Alben W. Barkley’s presence on the ticket in 1948, is anyone really going to hold it against them? Probably not. Especially if Jayson and Jeff (co-authors!) actually know what they’re talking about.

So, go ahead everybody: Barkley away.

We might also, when "writing about politics," be speculating about something that might happen in an election. Because, you know, everybody is interested in elections and elections are politics at their core. But do you want to know what I think about the politics of Donald vs. Hillary? Maybe you do. You shouldn’t trust me, though. I don’t have the data. Pretty much everybody except Nate Silver is just guessing at this point. If NPR can’t find anything interesting to say about what’s going to happen between now and November, how would I? Or Jayson or Jeff or Keith or Rany?

But you know that already, and anyway no sportswriters are actually doing that. Nor will they be asked to.

Wh​en you see the word "politics," what you’re probably thinking is "advocacy." If Rob – or Bill or Jayson or Rany – is writing about politics, they’re really advocating that you vote for this candidate or that one.

And that, I will say once more: Hellno.

For this reason: There is an excellent chance that your Dear Reader has already chosen her favorite candidate. If you are stumping for the same one, you’re merely preaching to the choir and we get more than enough of that on Facebook. If you’re recommending the other, you probably will wind up insulting the intelligence, or maybe the fundamental values, of Dear Reader. More to the point, the bottom line is that the minute your reader realizes your intentions, his or her brain will shut down. Once somebody knows who you like, you’ve lost ‘em. 

So why bother? How can I recommend that any writer – let alone one of my sportswriting brethren or sistren – do something so crass and unproductive as campaigning for some politician?

I need to stop right here and say something: If Jayson Stark wants to write an impassioned defense of a certain real-estate developer with orange skin and weird hair ... well, I’d read that. Wouldn’t you? Plus, who the hell am I to tell anyone what to write?

Consider, then, all this as merely advice to my future self. I’m not saying I won’t slip up on Twitter a few times between now and Election Day. But if you find me writing actual essays about one candidate or another, please ignore me or (better!) remind me of this essay.

I will, however, give myself license to write about something people think of as politics, but really is not...

Principles.

Defining terms again. "Principles" is tricky, too. But let me ask you something. If you were writing about baseball in the 1940s, and you were not open-throatedly supportive of Jackie Robinson and Organized Baseball’s other black players, how would you feel about yourself today? The principle, of course, being that the color of a man’s skin should have no bearing on his opportunities.

But that’s an easy one. It wasn’t actually so easy for those guys, then. Just seems easy to us, now. What’s not easy? The First Amendment and related principles. Do you believe, I mean really believe, in free expression? Do you believe that people who say things you find reprehensible or hurtful  or just plain stupid should still be allowed, and perhaps even encouraged, to speak their minds?

Many of you do not. And in case you didn’t know, the right wing in America hardly has a monopoly on hysterics and vitriol when it comes to speech. Not close to a monopoly. When Nat Hentoff wrote his forever-relevant book Free Speech for Me – But Not for Thee back in the early ‘90s, he had exactly zero problems finding stunning examples of suppression from both sides of the political divide (and yes, there was polarization even before social media). In fact, if there’s one thing about which hoi polloi on both the left and the right can agree, it’s that they shouldn’t have to hear anything disagreeable. Unless it’s on TV and the "news" is delivered with a sneer.

But writers, man – This is your fight! And you’re not even in the ring, taking your punches. Most writers are lefties, and most of them also can’t wait to shout down anyone who offends their sensibilities. Especially the young, angry ones who consider Twitter a birthright.

You want a principle, though? The freedom of expression, however distasteful, is low-hanging fruit. Twenty years from now you’ll be damn proud of yourself.

Here’s another one. In the promos for his new HBO show, Bill Simmons finishes by saying, "I believe that billionaires should pay for their own fucking football stadiums."

That’s an opinion, and I share it. But it’s not a principle.

A principle is that when the billionaire is trying to get that stadium built, he shouldn’t concoct a bunch of bullshit studies about all the wonderful economic impact for the local citizenry. A principle is that the billionaire shouldn’t bribe the local burghers, and another is that the burghers shouldn’t take any bribes.

Among all the sportswriters in the last 25 years who have covered the machinations of stadium construction, how many have addressed the underlying principles involved? Fewer than half, I’ll bet. Way fewer than half.

You wanna write about Hillary and Donald? Go ahead, friend. I wouldn’t recommend it, though. I might instead recommend that you think about the near-surety that right now, at this exact second, there is a Muslim child who dreams about crossing an ocean and playing professional baseball in the United States of America.

Find a principle in there, and the politics will take care of themselves.