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t’s a hot-as-fuck Los Angeles morning. Near 80 degrees at 8 a.m., and Stephen A. Smith is having half of a lightly jellied bagel. We’re near a big-ass private park that abuts a 40-story black glass building rumored to house or have housed NBA super-agents, pop stars, white-hot young creators, and various and sundry Middle Eastern royalty. The structure feels too tall for the quaky City of Angels, and one can only hope it stays as unshakable as its most garrulous current resident, Stephen A. Smith.
Because sports media has belatedly begun a messy process of reinvention, and Smith, 57, is flourishing. The Bronx-born journalist who made his bones covering the Philadelphia 76ers’ radical Allen Iverson era recently signed a five-year, $100 million contract with ESPN, making him the network’s highest-paid on-air personality not tied to a licensing deal. Last year, First Take, the Monday-through-Friday morning talk show he hosts, led ESPN’s studio programs with 21 consecutive months of year-over-year audience growth; so far this year, it maintains daily audiences of 450,000 to nearly 670,000 viewers and is trending upward. Salary-wise, Smith’s deal places him ahead of nighttime titans like Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel, and Jimmy Fallon. He’s on ESPN air more than any other talent, and yet Smith wants a sports broadcaster’s holy grail: Last September, he said he’d love to be on Monday Night Football.
Smith is engineered for this moment. On camera, his smile goes from Cheshire Cat to Mona Lisa to Grinch. His insight, grouchiness, intensity, and loudness lure, as he’s labeled everything from “most annoying” to “just noise” to “a left-wing shill” to a “megaphone for MAGA.” And whether you think he’s a mascot for the demise of sports journalism or the epitome of bootstrappy brilliance, Smith has been so vocal about national politics, his name has come up as a possible presidential candidate.
But there’s more. Since 2016, Smith has had a recurring role as a surveillance expert on ABC’s General Hospital. He recently appeared as a sports agent on Law & Order. He shows up talking to Sean Hannity on Fox News. His 2023 memoir, Straight Shooter, is a New York Times bestseller. New media is on the rise, and charismatic younger broadcasters are coming into their own. But Stephen A. has the energy of one in the catbird seat.
“All of these people that are doing their podcasts, or they’re reporting on stuff, or they’re coming at Stephen A. and they’re saying, ‘Who is he? What does he know?’ They’re forgetting my résumé,” he says, his voice hoarse even as he was on his way, after our conversation, to tape NBA Countdown. “I’ve been doing this. I’ve been a journalist for 20 years before I ever came on First Take. That’s why First Take can come on the air every day and I can do what I do with passion and fervor.”
There’s a quiet mania about people like Stephen A., who work both morning and late shifts, on the same days. Their tightly managed fatigue can’t hide a vanity they have about the simple fact of experiencing more hours: living more life. This affectation can become so steadying a force that it morphs into their personality. That’s why, in the blistering sun and brutal pollen in the private park, I had to press Stephen A. about who exactly Stephen Anthony Smith is. I think he almost told me.
How has sports fandom changed from when you were covering the 76ers in the Nineties and aughts?
Fans are more invested because sports gaming has entered the fray. There’s a lot more at stake, because you’re not just rooting, you’re betting. And because you’re betting, you become a bit more hostile. Social media has a profound impact as well. Everybody has a voice now. Or they think they do. And sometimes the people talking are the athletes themselves — clapping right back. Technology compels athletes, coaches, and teams to react to all of that, no matter how much they deny it.
Do you feel like the fandom around you is different these days? People either love Stephen A. or they hate Stephen A.
That’s always been the case. I’ve always been intensely polarizing. Either you’re for me or you’re against me, but that’s the way I like it. That’s what I signed up for. I’m a trained journalist. You have people who are going to question your truth, or people who despise you for telling them what they know to be true. I’ve never been in this business to be liked. It’s nice to be liked. To be loved. But it’s not an expectation. Not something I’m entitled to. It’s not something I care about when it comes to how I approach my job.
Does that carry over into your personal relationships?
I don’t understand that question.
As you say, it’s nice to be loved, to be liked. But it’s not required.
I wouldn’t say that. I’ve got a wonderful family. Two daughters. Four older sisters. Fifteen nieces and nephews. I’ve got friends that I grew up with in Hollis, Queens, in New York. I’ve got my buddies I went to Winston-Salem State University with. I got boys all over the country. There’s no absence of love. It buffers me, and strengthens me professionally. I don’t have any needs, professionally, other than to do my job. There’s not this salivation for love, adoration—
From your audiences.
Right. Respect is what I earn, and I gotta wake up and earn that every single day. But affection, love, all of those goody-two-shoe feelings? No. That’s not my profession. Not if you’re about doing this right. Because there are going to be times where even the people that you’ve cultivated a relationship with, that you care about, that you wish nothing but the best for — you’re gonna have to call them to the carpet.
I’ve seen you do it.
When necessary. It hurts to do it. But that’s the job. I let anybody that does business with me understand, up front, that’s who I’m going to be. Don’t cultivate a relationship with me if your objective is to ensure that you divert me away from doing my job. If that’s your goal, you’re going to be disappointed.
What really were the odds of young Steven Anthony becoming Steven A.?
Oh, extreme. If I could add a word on top of extreme, I would. To get left back in the fourth grade, with a first-grade reading level. To have undiagnosed dyslexia that my mother and my sister ultimately discovered. To graduate from high school with honors — but from a vocational technical high school where I studied electrical installation and stuff. To go to Winston-Salem on a basketball scholarship, only to crack my kneecap in half my first year there, and never be the same—
I’ve heard you use that phrase before.
Which phrase?
Cracked your kneecap—
Patella.
—in half.
Yes.
I’ve often thought you have good insight into injury. Is this why?
Yeah. Because it wasn’t just the injury. It was the rehab. It was the absence of access to top-notch technology because it was a Division II school. I literally had to leave for a full semester, go home to New York for rehabilitation, because my mother’s insurance would not pay for it if I stayed in North Carolina. The school didn’t cover us like that.
When you went down there to try out, you hit a whole bunch of—
Seventeen. Seventeen three-pointers. I never did it again. It’s a miracle that I didn’t miss.
You know how difficult it is to shoot the ball from the three-point line and beyond, and make it.
Oh, man. It’s very difficult — for those not accustomed to doing it. But the one thing that I could do throughout my life was shoot the basketball.
And now?
I can go out to a court and play, but my knees are sore for a couple of weeks if I do that. With my schedule, it’s just not worth it.
Right now, fans, commentators, everybody seems to hate three-point shooting.
It’s simple. A lot of guys can’t shoot. But the league has changed its philosophy where everybody’s looking to jack up open three-point shots. It elevates the pace. It peels you away from the physicality of the game, the banging down the side, elbow swinging, and everything else. The combination of those things lends itself toward a more attractive brand of basketball. Plus, it’s lethal: When somebody’s knocking threes down on you, it demoralizes the opposition, because there’s little to nothing you can do about it.
When was the first time you had a fist fight?
Seventh grade. I don’t remember the guy’s name. He caught me in the temple, dropped me to one knee, and then was coming to finish me. He left his guard down and then I got up and caught him with a straight right.
Do you remember the reason for the fight?
Kids arguing in seventh grade.
What about your last one?
Got in a fight with one of my classmates in my senior year of high school. We were arguing about something intellectual, and he was upset at me, and then he was talking junk about how he was gonna bust my ass on the basketball court. So we went out there after school and I busted his ass on the basketball court. He threw the ball in my face, and we started fighting. That’s all. It broke up real quick.
There was a time after you got let go from ESPN—
When I departed ESPN in 2009, I had nothing. I had no prospects.
What does that mean?
I had nothing. Just what I said.
You had a huge career.
No. It was stripped from me. When I was let go in May of 2009, I had no job opportunities, no other network wanted me.
Why?
I don’t know. No other network. No other network. I assumed I was blackballed, that the message was sent that I was somebody you wouldn’t want to work with.
No one called you for meetings?
Nobody. No one. I was unemployed from April of 2009 to February 2010. Living purely off savings. Then an old agent of mine by the name of Steve Mountain helped me get a job at Fox Sports Radio. Then ESPN Radio in New York — led by a guy who’s still my boss, Dave Roberts — desperately wanted me back, and brought me back in February of 2011. I was restricted to radio: a two-hour show in New York and then a two-hour show in L.A.
How’d you get back on television?
Skip Bayless was the star of First Take. He and I had always wanted to work together. We’d done a pilot for Fox, Sports in Black and White. They loved it, but at the 11th hour and 59th minute, Fox Sports pulled it. Fast-forward. It’s 2012. [Media executive] Jamie Horowitz convinces ESPN to let me come on at least once a week with Skip on First Take. When I showed up on Wednesdays, the ratings went through the roof. Horowitz and Bayless convinced ESPN — Let’s have him sitting across from Skip every day.
Were you surprised to be back?
Of course. Because once they let you go, you never assume they’re gonna want you back.
A lot of what I’ve heard about you is that Stephen A., one, is always playing chess, and two, Stephen A. keeps his enemies close.
I don’t concern myself with my enemies, because most people ain’t my friends. In terms of playing chess — that could be true, just not in this particular instance. When the Worldwide Leader [in Sports] lets you go, they usually don’t bring you back. When they let me go, I was making $1.3 million a year. When they brought me back, they paid me $400,000 for two radio shows. And you had people in New York and L.A. getting that for one show. So I was grossly underpaid. I was humbled — which I happen to know was the goal of one of the leading executives there. And I learned a lot from it. I certainly didn’t feel that way at the time. But as life has gone on, I’ve been grateful for the experience. It’s enabled me to be who and what I am.
Are we going to talk about you being ruthless?
I don’t think I’m ruthless. Why would you say I’m ruthless?
Because not many get to a position such as yours without being ruthless — especially in sports.
Yeah. But that don’t make me one of them.
If you weren’t ruthless on your journey to the top, what were you?
I worked hard. Put my head down. I’m about the work. I’m not about the sizzle. I’m the guy that went to a White House Correspondents’ Dinner through the back door. I didn’t want to be on the red carpet. “Ruthless” implies you’re uncaring. That all you care about is your mission. Nothing else in life matters, other people’s lives don’t matter. I’ve never been that guy. Intentionally willing to hurt other people? I’m never that guy.
Ever.
Ever. Because I assure you, especially now, there’s a whole lot of people I can hurt — who would deserve to be hurt. And I don’t waste my time thinking about it. I’ll leave them alone.
Because?
Because that’s not who I am. I’m not gonna put that on my soul. I’ll let God take care of that. Some people deserve it. I won’t mention their names, but it ain’t hard to figure out. Some of the things that people … woooooo! — things they say? And who they are? They ain’t shit, and I know it. But, I’m not gonna waste energy trying to hurt them and do things wrong to them. I don’t give a damn who you are, I want you to eat. I want you to have a roof over your head. I want you to be able to live your life.We’re as strong as our weakest link, and whether it’s individually, family, or societal, you can’t ignore the weak. Because if you’re weak, you’re desolate or whatever, and you’re ignored, all you’re gonna do is bring the collective down.
I see people trying to knock you off your spot.
That comes with anybody that’s on top. All they do is validate for me that I am on top — because what you worried about me for? I’m not trying to act robotic and inhuman, and tell you that if I read something or hear something that it doesn’t bother me, in the moment. But the key words there are “in the moment.” Is this something that I carry with me on my shoulders every day, thinking about the negative things people say? I don’t, because I wouldn’t be able to do my job. I have alligator skin in that regard.
You and First Take have changed the way sports are covered.
When people say that, I take it with a grain of salt because, depending on who you are, you might feel it’s a positive or you might feel it’s a negative. My response would be a question: How exactly is it that I cover sports?
At the poles. There might not be as much nuance or old-school Sports Illustrated-style seriousness. It’s “Who’s the king? Who fell off?”
I pay very little attention to people who say that. Here’s the reason why. So I might have a conversation about LeBron James or Michael Jordan being the GOAT.
You might?
Right. It may be several times. We are on First Take two hours a day, five days a week, and in my case, a minimum of 44 to 45 weeks a year. We’re talking about 450 hours. I can assure you, that [James-versus-Jordan conversation] doesn’t even equate to 10 percent of our content. People peel out what they want to peel out. It’s just like when they were talking to me about Colin Kaepernick: “When we gonna get back to sports? All we talk about is race. All we talk about is Black and white and police brutality.” Really? So we had a two-hour show and we talked about Colin Kaepernick for two segments. Well, there’s 15 segments. What about the other 13?
Were you saying this in meetings?
No, no, no. Not in meetings. I said it on the air. Like, ain’t nobody hiding. I’m the executive producer of First Take, so I’m not running. I’m paying attention. And I’m going, “Y’all really complaining? But then why are we number one for 13 years?” We’ve been number one since I arrived. Bayless has come and gone. Max Kellerman’s come and gone. A potpourri of other people have come and gone. I’ve been there for 13 years. We’ve been number one for 13 years.
Not a potpourri.
It is a potpourri. And I’ve been number one for 13 years.
I’m clear.
Why? If you’re complaining about it, why? Because you know it’s a lie. It’s not all we talk about. We talk about everything. We talk football, basketball, we talk about issues.
You do.
OK? We’re not a one-dimensional show. We pay attention to what the audience is paying attention to. We know what’s trending. That’s our job. And then we touch on the subjects they want us to touch on. How we touch on it is where I come in — because you’re not gonna tell me how to speak. I have guests who think the opposite of me. And the theme could be surmised, over the last four or five years, as Stephen A. against the world. Because every analyst comes in to go against me. How did that happen, Danyel? Because I invited it.
Oh, you invited it.
I invited it.
This is why I say chess, not checkers. You could go on all day and say Michael Jordan is forever king. But I believe you might say that even if you didn’t believe it, because you know that that position gets clicks and eyes.
I do believe it. But here’s the thing. Like anybody in today’s generation, of course, clicks, ratings, etc., are what you covet in this business. But my authenticity is my brand. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. Unless I’m openly joking. When I’m serious, which is most of the time, you know I’m deadly serious. I’m not faking a take. I gotta live with that lie.
Are you being authentic when you talk about running for president?
Yes. Because I’m not talking about running for it. I said I’ll leave the door open because elected officials, my pastor, my friends, and people in the streets have asked me. I have repeatedly stated I have no desire to be a politician. I was wrong to call them “professional beggars.” That is disrespectful to politicians. But needing to curry favor, whether it’s with other legislators, constituents, donors — I can’t imagine ever wanting to live that life. Not to mention the fact that I would have to give up money that it took me a long, long, long time to earn. I just reached a contract extension with ESPN. I’m gonna pass up half that to run for office? I can’t see it. But I care about the issues. I care about America. I care about what I see going on throughout the streets of America, and I do want to be a major player in terms of having a voice and influence with regard to the people that we select to run our country. In my perfect world, I’d be pushing candidates forward for America to look at as opposed to trying to push myself forward.
Is that where Three Americans, the live event you did in New York in March with Bill O’Reilly and Chris Cuomo, came from?
That came from O’Reilly. I was on the air with him and Cuomo, who has become a friend. He’s never pushed me to be a politician, but he’s like, “Look, you need to do more of this. Your voice is needed.” And when O’Reilly came on the air and started debating back and forth with me, and folks saw the dynamic, O’Reilly was like, “This is something we should do.”
Where are you on the political spectrum, in relation to them?
Chris is left. I think no matter what O’Reilly says about himself being an independent, he’s right all the way. The Cuomo family is historically center-left, which is how I would describe myself. But I’m even more of a centrist than they are. I’m really right down the middle. There are times where I completely agree with what the Republicans are doing, and there are times that I completely agree with what the Democrats are doing, and there are times that I’m diametrically opposed to both.
When you say Republican, are you talking historic Republicans? Or Republicans as they exist today?
I’m talking about historical Republicans. Republicans today are at the mercy of Donald Trump. I don’t even view Trump as a Republican. He caters to the GOP because that’s his base, and that’s what got him in office. That’s why he did it. You have to remember, I knew Trump before he ran for president. We used to go to his events at his casinos in Atlantic City, used to see him at games all the time. Donald Trump primarily was known as a Democrat.
Right now, we have concerns about Harvard. We’ve got concerns about HBCUs with him. We’ve got concerns about his administration’s willingness to eradicate Black history. I’m telling you right now, you get a bunch of Black power brokers together and sit at a table with Donald Trump and convince him that going against what he’s purported is in his best interest, he’ll do it. He doesn’t care. That’s always been him.
Is he a smart person?
He’s not dumb. I can tell you that. He’s very shrewd. He’s a dealmaker. Which is why I get upset at people on the left: We sent you to Capitol Hill to legislate. Find a way to work with him. Stop just hating, hating, hating him. Find a way to give him something he wants so you can get what you want. That’s your job. Anybody can sit up there and say, “I’m gonna oppose everything that Trump throws out there.” That ain’t working. Work is figuring out a way to serve your constituency.[As an example,] I sit up there and I get into something with LeBron James.
That viral moment at Crypto.com Arena in March at Lakers versus Knicks, where he approached you courtside and you two had words.
And so I’m not gonna cover the Lakers? I’m not gonna talk about James now? What sense does that make? I have to cover the sport. He’s a big part of the sport, which means I have to cover him, no matter what. Grown-ups understand that under the most hostile of circumstances, if you represent people, then it’s about the people. It’s not about you.
What is going on with you and LeBron James?
I have nothing to say about that. I don’t like him, and he don’t like me. He’s one of the greatest players who’s ever lived. I’m going to show him that respect, and I’m going to cover him objectively. When he does great, I’m gonna applaud. When he doesn’t do great, I’m not gonna applaud. He hid behind his son [Los Angeles Laker Bronny James], tried to make something out of nothing, as if I was dogging his son, which I was not. The real issue was we don’t like each other. And he used that as an excuse to confront me. I got it.
When you say “I got it,” what does that mean?
Meaning I understand that we don’t like each other. We’re never gonna like each other. It’s not gonna stop me from doing my job. He’ll be treated just like any other player I cover. Nobody is going to get me to compromise my professional integrity. I don’t have to like you to be fair to you.
Is it a power dynamic? Is it personal? Is there an old beef that lingers? A personality thing?
One could argue it’s all of the above. Over the course of his 22 years in this league, and the stories that I’ve had to cover about him, about his teams, decisions that he’s influenced his teams to make, trades, coaching firings, etc., etc. — all of which he’s played a role in. I’ve had to cover things that have not made him very happy, and I don’t care.
Do you think you’re good to the women of ESPN?
The women of ESPN?
Professionals. Journalists.
I guess so.
You have a lot of women on your shows.
I do. They deserve it.
They do.
I don’t think about it as being good to them. They’ve earned it. Monica McNutt, Andraya Carter, Chiney Ogwumike, Kimberley Martin, and of course my host, Molly Qerim. Mina Kimes. These are all ladies that contribute to the show. And they are nothing short of outstanding. What they’ve done for the industry, they deserve a lot of credit for, and they will always have my support.
You’ve said that there have been three times you feel like you made a misstep. One involved the Ray Rice intimate-partner violence situation, when the then-Ravens running back and his fiancée were arrested after video was released of him knocking her out cold in an Atlantic City elevator. I bring this up to say that your reputation with regard to how you may or may not view women has not always been super top-line.
Nobody’s perfect. Everybody and their mother advises me, “Don’t revisit it. It’s a no-win situation.” To me, that’s cowardice. I know what I said. And what I did was utter the word “provoke.” A former colleague at ESPN took it, ran with it, and it went ballistic on Twitter. The leadership at ESPN reacted to that. When the heat elevated, [they] said, “We have to suspend you.” And that’s a blemish on my career I do not believe I deserve. I’ve been consistent in that position. I’m a father of two daughters. I know what I’ve never condoned or excused. Unfortunately, we live in an immature society where people are not deducing right from wrong and contextualizing things properly.
When you were on television in the aftermath of your mom’s death a few years ago, you did not seem like the same person to me. You didn’t seem to care about what had happened in the previous night’s games. You were prepared and professional. But I thought in those moments that the person I was witnessing might be Stephen Anthony as opposed to Stephen A.
I don’t know. What I do know is I was like a zombie. That’s not Stephen A. I was a zombie. Part of me had died. My mother is the greatest human being I’ve ever known. That I’ve ever loved. I mean, my daughters, obviously, but my mother is the reason I know there’s a God, and why I believe in angels. I’ve never contemplated hell for two reasons. One, because I saw the hell she had to go through to take care of us. That look in her eye, that fatigue, that dire look of concern, wondering if anything that she did was gonna be enough to get us through — because Dad didn’t help her. That was hell. But also, in seeing her go through it, she made sure that I never felt it.And when she left, I had to go to therapy, because I was asked to. It was insisted upon by loved ones, by my pastor as well. A.R. Bernard at the Christian Cultural Center in Brooklyn, who’s very dear to me. I cried every day for two years.
It was hard to watch you. I was like, this is the definition of needing extended bereavement.
The biggest reason [I came back back so soon] was that she wouldn’t have had it no other way. I finished the NBA Finals and then spent the summer trying to get myself together, recalibrate.
She’s been gone now for eight years, June 1. Every day, I hear her as if she’s still here. That used to sadden me. Now it makes me smile.
Talk to me about St. Thomas, where your family is from.
That’s where my mother and father were born and raised. It’s the islands, you know? I was very mad at my father years ago, because he had promised some local senate candidate I was going to campaign for him. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but the point is, there was no way in hell I was going to do that. That’s the kind of person my father would be at times, and I didn’t like that at all. I can’t just go home now and see everybody like I once did. Sometimes you get to a certain place and the people around you swear you changed, when in fact it’s them who changed, and as a result, you just work through it and try to keep your distance.
Your sports journalism beginnings were quite traditional.
I wrote, I covered the beat, then became an NBA columnist, and ultimately I became a general sports columnist. You didn’t have a license to editorialize back in the day, before the advent of dot-coms and all of this other stuff. You had to climb charts to become a general sports columnist. In some people’s eyes, [what I do is] performative, but it’s only performative in terms of the energy I’m giving. Not the information I’m spewing. Because that I have been doing for 20 years prior to First Take.
So when people say that Stephen A. is purely performative—
They know better. Not only do I not agree with it, I know they don’t. They’re lying. To say that I’m just performative is to ignore my journalistic background. I started off with the New York Daily News in 1993. I did four internships prior to the Daily News as a high school writer. In 14 months I got promoted to college beat writer with the Philadelphia Inquirer. How would you possibly think that I’m just performing? How, with the stories that I’ve broken, and the interviews I’ve done?
I can tell you why.
You can tell me why, but you wouldn’t be right.
I would be right. One reason is many people tend to minimize the work of Black journalists.
But that’s what I just said. I didn’t paint it with a broad brush like that. But it’s like, if I’m loud and I’m going off about something, I’m angry. If a white dude does it, he’s passionate. I accept it. All I’m trying to say is that if you’re on TV, aren’t you supposed to perform?
So when you’re in your pajamas and your head is on your pillow, and your alarm goes off and you open your eyes, and you’re becoming conscious, who is that person?
That person is on a mission to give my audience exactly what they expect and more, over the course of two hours each weekday morning. They expect to see something from Stephen A. that leaves an indelible mark, and I believe that is why I am who I am. That’s why I’m proud.
You’re thinking of all of this in your pajamas?
No. I simplified for you. I said, give the audience what they expect.
Who is the guy that wakes up before he becomes Stephen A. Who is Stephen Anthony Smith? Is he happy? Is he sad?
I’m not happy. I’m not sad. I’m a never-ending process. I’m the guy who refuses to stand still enough to smell the roses. I’m the guy that got left back. I’m the guy that got fired. I’m the guy that walks around with that memory, that mark of failure draping over me to the point where I’m determined to make sure it never repeats itself. When I agreed to my contract extension with ESPN, I went out afterward and had a nice dinner. Celebrated. And I woke up the next day plotting for five years from now, to make sure I validate that I’m worth every damn penny they’re gonna pay me. I’m the engine that doesn’t cut off.
I’m not saying it’s a good thing. I wouldn’t advise most people to do it. But it’s who I am. I’m 57. I lost over 30 pounds. I recovered from being a nearly full-blown diabetic. I recovered from nearly getting killed by Covid, and I’m in the best health I’ve been in in a quarter-century because I’m in the gym six days a week. I’m on the treadmill and the Peloton. I’m lifting weights and working out with my trainer. I box when I can. I’m in the cold plunge and the infrared sauna. I do whatever it takes, because my goal is to win. And even when I’m winning, I don’t feel like I’m winning because that was yesterday. That’s got nothing to do with today — I got more things to accomplish. It’s hard to stop me because my attitude is they’re all gunning for me, and it’s just the way I like it. It fuels me. It doesn’t shrink me. That’s who I am every morning. Not at night, when I’m tired and it’s time to get some sleep. But when I wake up? Yes, that is me.
