USA TODAY International Edition
ARONOFF: ‘ BABE RUTH’ OF STATS ON TELEVISION
ESPN talent statistician, 78, is No. 1 with in- game numbers
CHARLOTTESVILLE, VA. Sean McDonough and Doris Burke are familiar faces to fans of college men’s basketball. There’s McDonough, play- by- play voice of ESPN’s Big Monday, sitting courtside with Burke, his analyst, to his right. But who’s the unfamiliar fellow on McDonough’s left, bent over his work, writing hurried hieroglyphics on tiny shards of folded paper?
This man’s wispy white hair sticks up over his headset, offering the appearance of some sort of mad scientist, which he sort of is. Ah, but there is method to his madness.
Marty Aronoff, 78, is what’s known in the trade as a talent statistician, which is to say he’s a stat man to the stars. He’s been sharing bits of on- the- fly statistical data on those torn pieces of paper over several decades with the likes of Mike Tirico, Brent Musburger, Dick Stockton, Hubie Brown, Jon Miller, Dan Shulman, Mike Patrick, Steve Levy, Gary Thorne, Kenny Albert and more.
In the TV biz, on- air stars are known as talent, thus the term talent statistician for the numbers guru who supplies play- byplay guys with rolling stats as they happen. McDonough works with many talent statisticians, but when he gets to choose — as he does on ESPN’s Monday Night Football — it is always Aronoff.
“Marty is the Babe Ruth of television statisticians,” McDonough tells USA TODAY Sports. “He is the greatest of all time, and he is probably always going to be the greatest of all time because I can’t imagine how anybody could be better.”
Ruth was among the most famous Americans of his era, while Aronoff is utterly anonymous, except inside the small industry that is his world, where he is known as “The Legend.” He says the designation embarrasses him, though his pleased smile argues otherwise.
So what makes “The Legend” a legend?
“Accuracy and speed,” says Eric Mosley, Big Monday producer. “He spots trends early. And he understands TV.”
Mosley says sometimes Aronoff lets producers in on a developing trend early enough for designers to build a quickie graphic. “And then,” Mosely says, “Sean can hit it out of the park.”
McDonough hits the homers while Aronoff serves up the fat pitches. Or, better yet, think of Aronoff as an unseen point guard, doling out assists.
“Yeah, I don’t score the points,” he says. “Aronoff to McDonough! Like Stockton to Malone!”
Aronoff throws back his head and laughs. He’s in his element, sitting in the press room hours before North Carolina plays at Virginia last week. He loves being at the big game — or any game, really. He’s worked every Colonial Athletic Association men’s basketball tournament title game. Monday night’s was his 32nd. He feels as much at home at the North Charleston ( S. C.) Coliseum as at Madison Square Garden.
“Every game is important,” he says. “I could never mail it in. I have to live up to the Aronoff brand.”
MOUNTAIN OF PAPER Virginia is on its way to a 53- 43 upset of North Carolina. Amid the din of the madding crowd, Aronoff takes little squares of paper, torn from sheets with box scores on the other side, and scribbles quick notes that are just this side of illegible. He shows them to McDonough at intervals throughout the game: Statistical insights meant to correspond with the game’s ebb and flow, written in terse shorthand ( turns for turnovers) for rapid- fire consumption. UNC 2 points last 6 minutes Virginia 3 turns in game, none last 20 minutes 15- 2 in 4 minute stretch These verbless jottings read like bad haiku but make good television. Aronoff shows his shards to McDonough — like a naughty student passing notes in class — and McDonough reads them at a glance, then seamlessly incorporates the living numbers into his quicksilver narrative.
Aronoff holds on to each note long enough for McDonough to see, then drops it to the floor as a tiny paper mountain grows at his feet. These are stats with an exceedingly short shelf life, constantly overtaken by the next trip down the floor.
“Guy 5- 7,” one note says, with the number 3 in a circle. McDonough tells the audience at home that Virginia freshman guard Kyle Guy is 5- for- 7 from threepoint range.
That note’s in black ink. In football and pro basketball, he changes color by quarter: Blue, red, green, black. In college men’s basketball, he uses the 10- minute mark of the first half to go from blue to red, and of the second half to go from green to black.
McDonough praises Aronoff’s ability to anticipate: “Marty sees things before I can ask.”
Or, as Burke puts it, “Marty beats people to the spot,” like a defender taking a charge. She says the symbiotic relationship between talent and talent statistician is built on unspoken trust.
Children, the saying goes, should be seen and not heard. Aronoff is neither. Well, unless you count a glimpse of him at the edge of the screen when McDonough is on camera. Aronoff likes to say he has the most famous elbow in sports.
‘ CLOSE TO 7,000 GAMES’ Aronoff rarely has a rooting interest in the games he works, but he grew up in Washington, D. C., as a Senators fan — third baseman Eddie Yost was his favorite player — and maintains ardor for the Nationals. Last fall he worked the deciding Game 5 in a National League playoff series won by the Los Angeles Dodgers against his Nats. “That one hurt,” he says.
He majored in math at Penn State and earned an MBA at Northwestern. ( He’ll work the Big Ten tournament, with both of his alma maters, in Washington this week.) After his schooling, Aronoff got a good job with the federal government in what was then called the Bureau of Standards. In 1975, he accompanied Washington Bullets broadcaster Warner Wolf — a softball teammate — to Philadelphia to help out at a Bullets- 76ers game.
“I’d never done it before, but I thought it would be fun,” Aronoff says. “In the second quarter, I gave him a note that said, ‘ Steve Mix hit his last five shots.’ Warner took off his headset and said, ‘ Really?’ And I said, ‘ I wouldn’t give it to you unless it’s right.’ ”
Aronoff did more games that season and even more in succeeding seasons and by the early 1980s gave up his day job to do stats full time. At his peak, he worked roughly 240 basketball, football and baseball games per year for multiple networks.
That was an era when he’d amass roughly 300,000 air miles a year. At one point he had 4 million miles on Delta.
These days Aronoff works about 100 to 120 games a year, including for the Washington Wizards as a game statistician when he’s in town. He turns 79 in June.
“I keep waiting for any kind of slippage or lessening of enthusiasm,” McDonough says, “but it never happens. He’s as sharp as ever.”
Aronoff wants to keep on keeping on for as long as his health holds up. Why give up what he calls the best job on the planet?
“When I meet someone for the first time,” he says, “there’s a 5050 chance they’re going to say, ‘ How do I do what you do?’ ”
So how many games has he done since that first one in Philadelphia in 1975? Aronoff tries to say he has no idea. But, come on, he’s a numbers guy. Surely he knows.
“Close to 7,000 games,” he says at last.
Then he gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. “It’s a living.”