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Straight Shooter: A Memoir of Second Chances and First Takes
America's most popular sports media figure tells it like it is in this surprisingly personal book, not only dishing out his signature, uninhibited opinions but also revealing the challenges he overcame in childhood as well as at ESPN, and who he really is when the cameras are off.
Stephen A. Smith has never been handed anything, nor was he an overnight success. Growing up poor in Queens, the son of Caribbean immigrants and the youngest of six children, he was a sports-obsessed kid who faced a number of struggles, from undiagnosed dyslexia to getting enough cereal to fill his bowl. As a basketball player at Winston-Salem State University, he got a glimmer of his true calling when he wrote a newspaper column arguing for the retirement of his own Hall of Fame coach, Clarence Gaines.
Smith hustled and rose up from a high school reporter at Daily News (New York) to a general sports columnist at The Philadelphia Inquirer in the 1990s, before getting his own show at ESPN in 2005. After he was unceremoniously fired from the network in 2009, he became even more determined to fight for success. He got himself rehired two years later and, with his razor-sharp intelligence and fearless debate style, found his role on the show he was destined to star in: First Take, the network's flagship morning program.
In Straight Shooter, Smith writes about the greatest highs and deepest lows of his life and career. He gives his thoughts on Skip Bayless, Ray Rice, Colin Kaepernick, the New York Knicks, the Dallas Cowboys, and former President Donald Trump. But he also pulls back the curtain and talks about life beyond the set, sharing authentic stories about his negligent father, his loving mother, being a father himself, his battle with life-threatening COVID-19, and what he really thinks about politics and social issues. He does it all with the same intelligence, humor, and charm that has made him a household name.
Provocative, moving, and eye-opening, this book is the perfect gift for lovers of sports, television, and anyone who likes their stories delivered straight to the heart.
Stephen A. Smith has never been handed anything, nor was he an overnight success. Growing up poor in Queens, the son of Caribbean immigrants and the youngest of six children, he was a sports-obsessed kid who faced a number of struggles, from undiagnosed dyslexia to getting enough cereal to fill his bowl. As a basketball player at Winston-Salem State University, he got a glimmer of his true calling when he wrote a newspaper column arguing for the retirement of his own Hall of Fame coach, Clarence Gaines.
Smith hustled and rose up from a high school reporter at Daily News (New York) to a general sports columnist at The Philadelphia Inquirer in the 1990s, before getting his own show at ESPN in 2005. After he was unceremoniously fired from the network in 2009, he became even more determined to fight for success. He got himself rehired two years later and, with his razor-sharp intelligence and fearless debate style, found his role on the show he was destined to star in: First Take, the network's flagship morning program.
In Straight Shooter, Smith writes about the greatest highs and deepest lows of his life and career. He gives his thoughts on Skip Bayless, Ray Rice, Colin Kaepernick, the New York Knicks, the Dallas Cowboys, and former President Donald Trump. But he also pulls back the curtain and talks about life beyond the set, sharing authentic stories about his negligent father, his loving mother, being a father himself, his battle with life-threatening COVID-19, and what he really thinks about politics and social issues. He does it all with the same intelligence, humor, and charm that has made him a household name.
Provocative, moving, and eye-opening, this book is the perfect gift for lovers of sports, television, and anyone who likes their stories delivered straight to the heart.
Editorial Reviews
"Stephen A.'s passion for sports simply can't be overstated. It exists in every fiber of his body, so when he speaks about it, or writes about it, it is raw, deeply authentic, and immensely entertaining. As you will discover on every page of this book, he brings this passion to anything he tackles."
-Bob Iger, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Ride of a Lifetime: Lessons Learned from 15 Years as CEO of the Walt Disney Company
"You may think you know Stephen A. from his hot takes, his First Take. But you won't know what makes him tick, what makes you love him or hate him, what brought him back from the television graveyard and made him irresistibly must-see for nearly twenty years until you read his autobiography. Do it, damnit!"
-Michael Wilbon, cohost of Pardon the Interruption and analyst on NBA Countdown
"Don't call it a comeback-my man was let go by ESPN and came back bigger than ever. Coming from Hollis, Queens (aka home of hip-hop royalty Run-DMC), the man tells it like it is, and this book is the blueprint of tenacity. Pick it up and earn twenty years of wisdom just like that. This book gets five stars from me."
-Fat Joe, author of The Book of Jose: A Memoir
-Bob Iger, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Ride of a Lifetime: Lessons Learned from 15 Years as CEO of the Walt Disney Company
"You may think you know Stephen A. from his hot takes, his First Take. But you won't know what makes him tick, what makes you love him or hate him, what brought him back from the television graveyard and made him irresistibly must-see for nearly twenty years until you read his autobiography. Do it, damnit!"
-Michael Wilbon, cohost of Pardon the Interruption and analyst on NBA Countdown
"Don't call it a comeback-my man was let go by ESPN and came back bigger than ever. Coming from Hollis, Queens (aka home of hip-hop royalty Run-DMC), the man tells it like it is, and this book is the blueprint of tenacity. Pick it up and earn twenty years of wisdom just like that. This book gets five stars from me."
-Fat Joe, author of The Book of Jose: A Memoir
Readers Top Reviews
beverly jonesSWil
Why didn’t I receive the autograph that was stated in the details of purchasing the book?
Ginabeverly jones
I am excited that I received my book early and I am ready to start reading it ASAP. However, it was not signed as it was stated that it would be.
Mark LiebermanGin
Stephen A Smith is known for his honest opinions, mostly on sports. I actually knew who he was because before my son was born in 2016, I was a sports fan and was a frequent viewer of ESPN and NBA basketball – that is where he held court. I enjoyed learning about his childhood upbringing, his family, and how he went from being a print journalist to ESPN. It was, though, a little bit too much detail for me on his show on ESPN called First Take. I was also expecting to hear more stories of his interactions with athletes, celebrities, musicians, and politicians. Maybe that will be another book for him down the road.
FrankMark Lieberm
It is interesting to see the early reviews of this book. Many low ratings appear to be based on if the book was signed or not; not the content. I think most of the readers, of this love him or hate him polarizing entertainment figure, love him or they wouldn’t have purchased the book. The book illustrates the soft or human side of Stephen A. that you don’t see on First Take. His love of his Mom, sisters, brother and daughters is heartwarming. Although he has a big ego, to say the least, he admits some mistakes and missteps during his life which he says he has learned from. The book comes across as a reflection on his life and his ability to overcome all odds and people, including his father, who said he couldn’t. He has proven to all doubters that he could. His honesty, sincerity and transparency even when challenged have enabled him to develop relationships in not only the sports world but in all walks of life. His wealth of knowledge beyond sports is not cited enough in the book. As far as politics is concerned he identifies as an Independent. I have seen him debate Sean Hannity, who is a friend of his, and hold his own. He is not just a sports only jock. I don’t always agree with him, but I understand the points he makes and that what he says he believes. With Stephen A., what you see is what you get, like him or not!
MaddieFrankMark L
Stephen A. I hope your assistant gets this message to you... This book is phenomenal! It is inspirational, heart breaking, hilarious (at times), and educational. I am a 26 year old woman, this is for your demographic analytics okay. I have been watching first take daily since 2020 peeping clips online all since I was a teen in highschool. I played sports and adore them all. Covid caused my job to let us work from home which gave me the freedom to watch the show at 10, and if I have a meeting I'll make sure to watch it on demand on the app. Why? Because something about your delivery, command, audacious takes felt so genuine and familiar. To me you seemed so much like the metaphor of the glass onion. Appearing one way, with your suits and self confidence, quick remarks, animated faces etc but all along the center is plain in sight. You're the dream! You made it. As a black women I could see that, but man I don't think anyone could know the true extent of your journey without reading this book. Molly said on the show a couple days ago that people will respect you more after this and I couldnt agree more! I'm a millennial and im typing this on my Kindle and im getting tired of that so I conclude with this, thank you for sharing your story! I am currently in a place where a lot of big opportunities are happening for me and it seems daunting. But you have inspired me! People don't really get there flowers til they are gone. One-day the world will recognize the historical contribution you have made for media, journalism, entertainment etc. So two things: the cowboys haven't won anything since I've been alive and keep your faith on TLaw cuz Duval coming for the AFC babbyyyyy! God bless.
Short Excerpt Teaser
Chapter 1: My Dad Was No Hero! CHAPTER 1 MY DAD WAS NO HERO!
I was born in the Bronx before it began burning, in the fall of 1967, the youngest of six kids. Arriving four years after the next-oldest sibling, my sisters and brother always joked that I was "the mistake." My mother would have none of it.
"You shut up!" she'd mock-scold them in her sternest West Indian accent. "He was the only one who was on purpose!"
I was about a year old when we moved from our apartment in a dilapidated building on Hoe Avenue to a narrow, aluminum-sided single-family house with a leaky roof and postage-stamp yard on 203rd Street in Hollis, Queens, a mostly Black, working-class neighborhood lined with other narrow single-family houses. Fronted by chain-link fences or scraggly hedges, most of the homes had a neat but needs-work-I-can't-afford look. Hollis didn't resemble the overcrowded projects in the Bronx, but it had many of the same problems.
Folks in that part of Queens made livings as bus drivers, train conductors, nurses, paralegals. Others sold drugs or stole to buy drugs. No doctors or lawyers-there wasn't none of that in my neighborhood. Manhattan's skyline glowed in the distance but still took more than an hour to reach by the Q-2 bus and then the F or E train, most locals' main mode of transportation. Manhattan to us was a place where people went to work and then rushed back home. You had to have actual money to live there; at the time, you didn't need much of that to live in Hollis. Planes from nearby JFK International Airport roared overhead, drowning out our hollering while we played football in the streets.
When I got a little older, those planes also drowned out the rappers and break dancers who suddenly sprouted up in parks and on street corners all over the place. They arrived along with the crack epidemic, hoping to emulate the success of Run-DMC, the neighborhood group turned hip-hop pioneers.
Run-DMC started out in local spots like Hollis Park, Jamaica Park, and Ozone Park, rapping for the DJs who competed there. They quickly put my 'hood (birthplace of such dignitaries as jazz trumpeter Roy Eldridge, New York Governor Mario Cuomo, and civil rights activist Rev. Al Sharpton) on every hip-hop fan's map. Their songs were the soundtrack to our lives: "It's Like That" (released when I was sixteen), "Hollis Crew," "Sucker M.C.'s," "My Adidas," and the novelty hit "Christmas in Hollis" ("It's Christmas time in Hollis Queens / Mom's cooking chicken and collard greens"). To this day, they're still cued up in whatever car I drive-you don't come from Hollis and not have Run-DMC in your library.
They were just dudes who were around. My brother, Basil, was tight with the group's DJ, Jam Master Jay, who grew up right across the street, half a block up. I saw Joey "Run" Simmons all the time when he dated a drop-dead-gorgeous girl on our block named Tonya, and I would also see his brother Russell Simmons, who founded Def Jam Records. LL Cool J grew up just a few blocks from them, at his grandmother's house, on Farmer's Boulevard.
But even in the toughest times, Hollis clung to its urban village roots. Some sections were more tense and dangerous than others. Mothers in the neighborhood-like Mrs. Miller across the street, and Mrs. McKnight (my friend Mark McKnight's mother, known as Mommy Alice) two houses up from mine-kept an eye on everything from what seemed like permanent perches in their front windows and front steps. If you misbehaved, your parents heard about it. These women weren't assigned those roles; it wasn't part of some "neighborhood watch" program. They just cared about the community and made sure everybody did the right thing. As kids, we hated it. Looking back, I appreciate how lucky we were to have these ladies looking out for us.
I had aunts and uncles scattered around the boroughs like branches of some Caribbean social club. They all came from nothing and moved here from the U.S. Virgin Islands in search of something else-in search of more. My parents, Ashley and Janet, did the same. They met as teenagers at the church in St. Thomas that my mother attended every Sunday. My father was one of the guys who stood outside throwing rocks at the pretty girls when they came out. Apparently, back then that's how you showed your love.
Damn if it didn't work: they got married in 1958, shortly after my mother became pregnant with my oldest sister, Linda. My mother was seventeen, my dad nineteen. They moved to New York in the early 1960s in search of the better life their relatives had sought before them, some with more success than others. Then they had the rest of us: Basil, Arlyne, Abigail, Carmen, and me.
My father eventua...
I was born in the Bronx before it began burning, in the fall of 1967, the youngest of six kids. Arriving four years after the next-oldest sibling, my sisters and brother always joked that I was "the mistake." My mother would have none of it.
"You shut up!" she'd mock-scold them in her sternest West Indian accent. "He was the only one who was on purpose!"
I was about a year old when we moved from our apartment in a dilapidated building on Hoe Avenue to a narrow, aluminum-sided single-family house with a leaky roof and postage-stamp yard on 203rd Street in Hollis, Queens, a mostly Black, working-class neighborhood lined with other narrow single-family houses. Fronted by chain-link fences or scraggly hedges, most of the homes had a neat but needs-work-I-can't-afford look. Hollis didn't resemble the overcrowded projects in the Bronx, but it had many of the same problems.
Folks in that part of Queens made livings as bus drivers, train conductors, nurses, paralegals. Others sold drugs or stole to buy drugs. No doctors or lawyers-there wasn't none of that in my neighborhood. Manhattan's skyline glowed in the distance but still took more than an hour to reach by the Q-2 bus and then the F or E train, most locals' main mode of transportation. Manhattan to us was a place where people went to work and then rushed back home. You had to have actual money to live there; at the time, you didn't need much of that to live in Hollis. Planes from nearby JFK International Airport roared overhead, drowning out our hollering while we played football in the streets.
When I got a little older, those planes also drowned out the rappers and break dancers who suddenly sprouted up in parks and on street corners all over the place. They arrived along with the crack epidemic, hoping to emulate the success of Run-DMC, the neighborhood group turned hip-hop pioneers.
Run-DMC started out in local spots like Hollis Park, Jamaica Park, and Ozone Park, rapping for the DJs who competed there. They quickly put my 'hood (birthplace of such dignitaries as jazz trumpeter Roy Eldridge, New York Governor Mario Cuomo, and civil rights activist Rev. Al Sharpton) on every hip-hop fan's map. Their songs were the soundtrack to our lives: "It's Like That" (released when I was sixteen), "Hollis Crew," "Sucker M.C.'s," "My Adidas," and the novelty hit "Christmas in Hollis" ("It's Christmas time in Hollis Queens / Mom's cooking chicken and collard greens"). To this day, they're still cued up in whatever car I drive-you don't come from Hollis and not have Run-DMC in your library.
They were just dudes who were around. My brother, Basil, was tight with the group's DJ, Jam Master Jay, who grew up right across the street, half a block up. I saw Joey "Run" Simmons all the time when he dated a drop-dead-gorgeous girl on our block named Tonya, and I would also see his brother Russell Simmons, who founded Def Jam Records. LL Cool J grew up just a few blocks from them, at his grandmother's house, on Farmer's Boulevard.
But even in the toughest times, Hollis clung to its urban village roots. Some sections were more tense and dangerous than others. Mothers in the neighborhood-like Mrs. Miller across the street, and Mrs. McKnight (my friend Mark McKnight's mother, known as Mommy Alice) two houses up from mine-kept an eye on everything from what seemed like permanent perches in their front windows and front steps. If you misbehaved, your parents heard about it. These women weren't assigned those roles; it wasn't part of some "neighborhood watch" program. They just cared about the community and made sure everybody did the right thing. As kids, we hated it. Looking back, I appreciate how lucky we were to have these ladies looking out for us.
I had aunts and uncles scattered around the boroughs like branches of some Caribbean social club. They all came from nothing and moved here from the U.S. Virgin Islands in search of something else-in search of more. My parents, Ashley and Janet, did the same. They met as teenagers at the church in St. Thomas that my mother attended every Sunday. My father was one of the guys who stood outside throwing rocks at the pretty girls when they came out. Apparently, back then that's how you showed your love.
Damn if it didn't work: they got married in 1958, shortly after my mother became pregnant with my oldest sister, Linda. My mother was seventeen, my dad nineteen. They moved to New York in the early 1960s in search of the better life their relatives had sought before them, some with more success than others. Then they had the rest of us: Basil, Arlyne, Abigail, Carmen, and me.
My father eventua...
