As a journalism major and a reporter for The Northern Star I’m supposed to pride myself on being objective. The same words are drilled into my head every day—Don’t be a cheerleader. Don’t be opinionated. Report the news.

Occasionally, these rules are difficult to follow and it becomes a struggle to keep emotions out of a story. A little over a week ago, I found myself in such a situation.

I was assigned to write a story about NIU assistant basketball coach Kenny Arnold. Big deal, right? Well, it was for me!

The moment I found out early in the fall semester that Arnold would be a coach at NIU, I set my mind on doing a story about him. I had a special reason for doing the story, though.

Since I was in grade school in Moline, Ill., which lies on the Iowa border, I had been an Iowa Hawkeye fan. There was one Hawkeye cager, in particular, who I idolized. He was a 6-foot-2 point guard with a big afro—Kenny Arnold. I loved watching the guy play. He was so cool under pressure and always seemed to play his best games against the top teams. I’m no longer a Hawkeye fan, but my respect for Arnold continues.

So I have to admit, when I went to Arnold’s office (which he shares with fellow coach Jay Goedert) for the interview, I was in awe. I immediately found myself looking at the office walls which were decorated with newspaper clippings, pictures and awards he had collected at Iowa.

I looked up at Arnold, (his hair much shorter now) to ask my first question and suddenly I broke one of the cardinal rules of objectivity.

“I’ve got to tell you, Mr. Arnold, I’ve always been a big fan of yours,” I babbled like a 10-year-old boy adoring his first BB gun.

After that I went on to ask Arnold about the topic of my story—the brain tumor which he had overcome recently. I found this interesting but it wasn’t what I really wanted to talk about.

Slowly, our conversation turned to his career at Iowa. We talked about the year he led the Hawkeyes to the Final Four and about many games and players which we remembered. I found myself reliving games which I had watched so intensely on television.

I think Arnold was surprised by how many names I recalled, but I think he enjoyed talking to a person who remembered and appreciated him. I really enjoyed how Arnold talked to me as if I were one of the guys.

As I became more comfortable, I revealed that I had told my friends when Arnold was a freshman that he didn’t have a good enough outside jumper to make it at Iowa. When he heard this, Arnold nearly fell out his chair.

“That’s what they recruited me for,” Arnold said as he looked over at a giggling Goedert.

I was so enveloped in the conversation that I almost forgot to take notes and my purpose for being there. I had been transformed from an inquisitive reporter to a delighted fan in less than fifteen minutes.

After talking basketball for a while, I realized it was time to leave. I shook hands with Arnold and headed for the Star. As I walked, I thought to myself, “How can I write an objective story about one of my idols?” I wanted to write a story about what a great guy he was and how much I respected him.

I quickly returned to reality, though, as I heard those ever familiar words in my head: “Don’t be a cheerleader. Don’t be opinionated. Report the news.”

Such is the life of a reporter.