You probably haven’t heard of Andrew Astleford, but you will – and soon. For among the rising stars in sports journalism, he is one of the profession’s brightest. His body of work proves that point.

Astleford, a 2010 Missouri grad and a Pulliam fellow last summer, is a two-time winner of a Hearst award, which might best be described as the Pulitzer Prize for college students. His 2009-’10 piece finished first in the Sports category.

But a piece he wrote for an earlier entry period – it finished third in the same category – was also a high-art form. His story chronicled the agony of a former NFL player, a player whose life after the cheering ended hadn’t been the glamour tale we prefer to hear.

Like most well-written stories, the feature on Tom McHale was deeper than my explanation made it seem. In the piece for The Washington Post, Astleford tapped all the knowledge he learned in the classroom and used it to paint a tragic tale – a memorable tale about, well, failure.

As with most of the Hearst winners, I have read Astleford’s winning entry two or three times now. Each time I notice things I missed on my earlier reading; I see the cleverness that separates a gifted sportswriter like Astleford from an ordinary one. His prose shines like the sun over the Sahara at high noon.

I was curious about how his story on McHale came together – what challenges he faced in reporting and writing the story. So asked Astleford some questions about writing overall and this piece in particular. Here is what he had to say:

QUESTION: I have not read a great deal of your work — just your 2008-’09 and 2009-’10 Hearst winners — but I can tell that you have a wonderful command of storytelling. Did what you learn about storytelling at Missouri play a part in your 2008 winning entry? Or do you see the piece as more a newsy story?

ANDREW ASTLEFORD: The 2008-’09 Hearst piece mentioned was assigned to me when I was a summer intern at The Washington Post, which has one of the most visionary sports sections in the country. The sports editor at the time, Emilio Garcia-Ruiz, assigned the story as a long-term project early in my time there. To be completely honest, I had no clue what I was getting myself into when I started reporting. I had written long stories before but nothing this emotionally intensive. After reading early reports about Tom McHale’s death, I knew the project was going to be a challenge not only as a writer and as a reporter but also as a person. As a human-interest writer, when you immerse yourself into heavy themes such as death and drugs – and you make the calls and request autopsy reports and console the deceased’s friends multiple times a day – you are going to feel for the people left behind. At least I would sure hope so. Sometimes the voices stay with you, long after the story runs. They did for me.

I consider this piece an unbelievable growth moment. Dan Uthman, a deputy sports editor there at the time, worked with me and was a guiding light. He helped me string together the narrative, despite my own insecurities about my ability. I could not have asked for a more patient and graceful editor. I am thankful for Emilio as well, for coming up with the crazy idea to assign such a story to me. I valued his trust.

During this piece, I learned being a journalist is about being human. It is about showing empathy and compassion and dropping the pen-and-notepad act when people are in pain. It is about something that goes far, far beyond anything seen in print. I am not sure any classroom can prepare you for that lesson.

I did not view the piece as a news story but a narrative about tragedy – how even the strongest, most respected among us are susceptible to great falls. The best stories are transcendent stories, pieces that go beyond the subject and highlight a human thread that binds us all. I tried to accomplish this with the McHale story.

Q: One thing I marvel at in reading your prose is the use of language. Can you pinpoint where that ability to came from? Did you read a lot, and does reading play a role in your mastery of this aspect of writing?

ASTLEFORD: Thank you for the kind words. I am not sure I have “mastered” anything – especially at this point in my life – but it is interesting you say this because I have no idea. I like the sound the words, the way they flow to create images and evoke feel. Language’s power is amazing to me, and I have always enjoyed reading writers whose words “sound” effortless. I have always read a lot, and I think poetry influences might have played a role. Early in college, Greg Bowers, my sports editor at The Columbia Missourian, taught others and me the difference between “garbage” and “trash,” “flower” and “rose.” In narrative writing, each word should matter. Words are music. However, structure and reporting make a story sing. You can turn phrases to your heart’s desire, but if your structure and reporting are weak, your story will sink. The best writers are the best reporters. They do the work. They take pride in their prose. I wish I were a more effortless writer – I can edit myself like mad at times before moving onto the next sentence – but each of us is different. That is what makes this fun.

Q: From a sportswriting perspective, who are your journalistic influences, Andrew?

ASTLEFORD: I am in journalism because this is the Internet Age. I was raised in western Kansas, about which Truman Capote wrote, “a lonesome area that other Kansans call ‘out there.’” I lived about a six-hour drive from Denver and Kansas City, so metro newspapers were not exactly tossed into my driveway each morning.

I started writing about sports, probably accidentally, by creating a few Web sites devoted to my favorite college football team during the Angelfire/Geocities era of Web publishing. I was probably in sixth grade. In middle school, I volunteered as the Webmaster for my hometown’s semi-professional football team and wrote and uploaded game stories for their home contests. Early in high school, I did the same for a semi-professional basketball team in town. Those, to my memory, represent my first published pieces of “sports journalism.”

In high school, I started reading The Kansas City Star’s online sports section daily. I followed Wright Thompson, Joe Posnanski, Jeff Passan, Elizabeth Merrill and Brady McCollough, to name a few. They wrote “differently” – at the time, I was too young to put my finger on it – but their stories made me feel, and I wanted more. Each morning, reading their words was like unwrapping a gift.

The Kansas City Star’s section remains one of my favorites because it values great storytelling in an era of the shrinking newshole. Storytellers were writing about people and places I could relate. Their words made me want to be like them. I remember reading The Kansas City Star’s 2003 baseball preview section, reported from Cuba and the Dominican Republic about the region’s growing influence upon the game. It blew me away. I remember calling the circulation desk to order copies, just so I could rub the newsprint between my fingertips. At that moment, I wanted to be a sportswriter. I wanted to bring pages to life.

It would be fascinating to poll sports journalism students at places such as the University of Kansas and my alma mater, the University of Missouri, to learn how many chose this path because of The Star. I know there are others out there like me, and they are doing great work. As writers, our words outlive us. What a powerful thing.

Now, in addition to the early influences, I read a lot of different people. Chris Jones. Tom Junod. Tom Friend. Scott Price. Eli Saslow. Chico Harlan. Anne Hull. Bill Reiter. Kent Babb. Justin Heckert. Michael Kruse. Lane DeGregory. Gangrey.com is a wonderful resource. Those are only a few. Some are sportswriters. Most are not.

Q: Now, let’s talk with more specifics about your piece on Tom McHale. Where did the idea from the story come from?

ASTLEFORD: One morning, Emilio brought me into his office and told me about McHale, who had ties to the Washington area. A reader had e-mailed the tip and gave a scouting report on McHale’s background and relationships in the region.

I will never forget what Emilio said before I walked away. He told me, “Other people are going to write this a lot better than you.” I know he was trying to light a fire under me, but his challenge gave me incentive to report the heck out of the piece, even if it meant I struggled mightily to write it months later. Many people could have approached the story a lot better, but I learned so many things about myself throughout the process. As a young writer, I could not have asked for more.

Q: Upon rereading your piece the other day, I was struck by how sparingly you used direct quotes. Is that just your approach in this story or is it an approach that you rely on in all your writing? If it’s the latter, can you share your philosophy on using direct quotes?

ASTLEFORD: I once read somewhere that quotes in storytelling should be no different than salt or pepper. A writer should use them sparingly to add spice.

For a long piece like the McHale project, I transcribe everything. It is a tedious process, but one that helps me understand theme and pick up on details I might have missed when talking to subjects. I work in Gmail, so I create a chain that says something like “McHale Transcribe” and devote one message to each source interviewed. Then, when I am ready to organize a story, I print the chain and begin visualizing structure. Quotes are great tools, but I am not a fan of block statements in long stories, unless they are unbelievably powerful. However, there is no right or wrong way to do this. In daily journalism, I think quotes are more effective.

Q: Looking back at the story, what was the hardest part of making it come together? How did you resolve it?

ASTLEFORD: Honestly, the hardest thing was getting over myself. As I mentioned earlier, I reported this so long and hard that there was a period – even after the story ran – when I was depressed. I can say that now. One day, when I was still at The Post, I had to leave the office for a while because I listened to someone bawl incessantly over the phone. I never used this person in the story because his quotes were inaudible. Obviously, I could not hang up on him, so I found myself in the strange position of playing counselor to someone whom, minutes before, I had never talked to in my life. There were other instances like that too. Their pain became mine. I was 22 years old. This was heavy stuff for me.

Looking back on it, I probably should have told more people about my inhibitions reporting the piece. It was a mistake keeping it inside for so long. But I was young, and this was the first time I had confronted anything like this. I did not want to appear incapable of completing something that had been assigned to me.

McHale was a rock to many of his friends, and his loss, looking back on it, made them feel vulnerable. I probably talked to each of them for an average of an hour, and they shared deep things – many of which never made it into print. I felt incredible pressure to do this story right. Obviously, I wanted to tell the truth about what happened – or at least to the best of my ability with what was revealed – but I wanted to frame the story correctly for McHale friends’ and family’s sake too. It was a delicate line, one I am sure veteran reporters balance well without fail. Then, though, I confronted it for the first time.

Q: As journalists, we obsess over the opening of our stories. We talk endlessly about great leads, but how often do we discuss great endings? With that in mind, I liked to say I loved the last sentence in yours: “I have a great peace,” she said, “for knowing he’s at peace.” When in your writing process did you decide on that quote as your ending? Do you think, looking back, it was the best way to end your piece?

ASTLEFORD: I thought the quote was a genuine summation. McHale experienced a dark, sad turn in his life, one that affected his large circle of admirers. In some ways, though, his death brought closure to a situation where the McHale friends and family saw late in his life resembled little of whom they had loved. They chose to remember the bright days, and that McHale, I am sure, continues to live in their hearts.

If I were to do it again, I would try to end without a quote. Read Chris Jones’ endings, and you will see that a great close evokes feel through prose. As writers, we constantly evolve. Hopefully, one day, I will mature to the point where I can attempt such a technique on a consistent basis.

A few months after my piece ran, it was revealed McHale’s condition deteriorated because of brain damage experienced when he played in the NFL. Recently, there has been a lot of discussion about concussions. I hope this story draws some attention to how quickly someone’s life can change and the pain that results.

We view ourselves as individuals, but our legacies affect so many around us. I was heartbroken to learn how McHale’s tragic death struck his family and friends. But, as I said, I think they found some solace in his final peace. They wanted to share his story so others would not follow a similar path. I felt honored to listen.