Nearly a quarter-century ago, in the middle of ESPN’s golden age, network president Mark Shapiro debuted a novel banter talk show with only the most modest ambitions: Pardon the Interruption featured a pair of balding, grizzled, middle-aged Washington Post columnists, who had either been kicked upstairs or downstairs after years of regular appearances on The Sports Reporters, the old Sunday morning dikk Schaap roundtable. In those early days, Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon were almost comically transparent about their unusual, and perhaps precarious, leap from the smoky newsroom into the celluloid boob tube during the invisible lead-in hour to SportsCenter. Indeed, neither were matinee-idol-attractive or even entirely media trained. Their chief talent, in fact, was arguing about sports—and they were preternaturally great at arguing with each other about sports.
And yet that talent, along with the show’s innovative rundown format, turned out to be a harbinger of a new age that would beckon in a decade or two, after the bright lights of SportsCenter faded and the monoculture collapsed. In those days, producers realized that Kornheiser and Wilbon made for great TV largely because of their extraordinary authenticity—both their familiarity with each other, their own unique tics (Kornheiser’s fear of flying; Wilbon’s natty wardrobe), and their chummy relations with their guest stars, both athletes and coaches, who also happened to be their friends from years of postgame banter.
In many ways, Mike and Tony presaged the current model for ESPN chairman Jimmy Pitaro: They were O.G. needle-movers, precursors to the network’s current programming strategy, which now coalesces around Pat McAfee and Stephen A. Smith. Pitaro and his content chief, Burke Magnus, bet that they could expand ESPN’s brand to Gen Z by allowing McAfee to simulcast his show on YouTube, including an extra hour that does not appear on ESPN. Earlier this spring, ESPN made a similar decision with Stephen A., who signed a mammoth $20 million-per-year deal that allowed him to continue producing YouTube shows while hosting a weekly political radio show for SiriusXM. And last month, ESPN hired social media influencer Katie Feeney, who has more than 14 million followers across her accounts.
And yet Mike and Tony are, in their own way, needle-movers for the aging Gen Xers and older Millennials who came of age in the Patrick–Olbermann era. Even as ESPN changes—dispensing with second- and third-tier talent, capitalizing on internet-famous talent, and relying on a panoply of distribution deals—they are core to the proposition for what remains of the aging audience that fueled the network’s ascent. “I look at them as the hosts of the original sports personality show,” Magnus told me. “They’re still as relevant and as powerful as they’ve ever been. And, by the way, they also attract a very diverse audience. By no means are they weak in the young demographic.”
So, nearly 24 years to the month after PTI debuted, I’m told that ESPN is extending their deals by another three years apiece. Is this the final extension? Kornheiser, who is 77, laments his age on a nearly quotidian basis. (One common refrain between the two hosts is his inability to watch evening games to their conclusion.) Wilbon is a comparatively spry 66 years old. And they’ve already outlived, at least in TV years, many of their generational brethren, such as Around the Horn, which was started by their former statistician Tony Reali. (ESPN still hasn’t decided on a replacement for the ATH time slot, and Magnus says he’s not close to making a decision, happy to use SportsCenter as a lead-in to PTI in the interim.)
In fact, ESPN seems to want as much PTI as it can get from its hosts. At one point, executives had considered the idea of expanding the show to an hour, but that idea never got serious. “There was never a moment when we weren’t completely committed to continuing PTI, frankly,” Magnus told me, “for as long as they want to continue PTI.”