The relationship between a sports journalist and a professional athlete is an especially fraught one.

They don’t need you. They quite rightly suspect your motives. They’re forced to confront you day after day, often in the wake of some disappointment or embarrassment.

It’s not an optimal leaping-off point for a fruitful give-and-take.

Everyone who works in the business has had a version (or more likely, several thematically consistent versions) of this discussion.

“What happened on the (broken play/fielding error/frothing meltdown/poor life choice) in the (bottom of the ninth/overtime/night club)?”

“Where’d you play?”

“Sorry?”

“Where’d you play? Did you play (hockey/baseball/basketball/broomball)?”

We all probably played this game, whatever it is. We played it badly. That’s why we’re on this side of the notebook. Saying so will make things worse. If it’s gotten to this, it’s already pointless.

So the smarter reporters don’t try, “High school.” (A few callow ones do, and that’s especially excruciating to witness). Instead, they say, “No.”

And then the athlete says, “So you don’t know what you’re talking about, do you?”

Any answer is wrong. It’s best to let an uncomfortable, silent pall descend on proceedings. After a couple of beats, the athlete gets to stalk off without addressing the issue — which was the whole point.

Vancouver radio reporter Karen Thomson got this treatment on Monday night after a tough, totally legitimate question.

She asked Blackhawk Duncan Keith about a soft hack on Daniel Sedin as the Canuck scored on a breakaway. She wondered if it was an uncalled penalty. You may disagree with her premise, but she has every right to ask. It’s more than a right. It’s an imperative. That’s why they pay her — to ask.

Keith could easily have shrugged it off. Most guys do. A flat “No” would’ve ended the discussion.

But pros, even the very decent ones, occasionally blow an emotional tire. After a lopsided loss, Keith was in the mood to give someone a metaphorical face wash.

“Oh no, I don’t think there was any big . . . I think he scored a nice goal. The ref was right there. That’s what the ref saw,” Keith said. Then he turned surly. “We should get you as a ref maybe?”

Two options here for Thomson. Turtle, or chirp back. Thankfully, she chose the latter. She can be heard saying, “Yeah, maybe.”

“First female referee,” Keith says, with false mirth. “Can’t play probably either, eh? But you’re thinking the game like you know it? Kay. See ya.”

AUDIO OF EXCHANGE BETWEEN KEITH AND THOMSON

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In the aftermath, several well-meaning types (notably, not Thomson herself) went running for the PC barricades. Le sexisme!

It isn’t. It isn’t even close. It’s bad manners and poor form. Those land mines are strewn throughout every big league locker room on the continent. They are a necessary work condition. Often, they’re a great help to the job. Nothing like an ill-tempered outburst to grease a story. I’m wrapping 900 words around it right now. Thank you, Duncan Keith.

This obscures the real sexism that continues to operate in some rooms with some players (though I’ll leave it to female reporters to comment on the extent of that).

As a man, you can only talk about what you see. A few days ago, when the Celtics were in town, I watched a Boston player briefly dance around the room with a long, Styrofoam roll pad between his legs as a young woman tried to interview Jeff Green. Green laughed for a moment, then signalled him to quit it.

All in good fun, but not really.

The rule in these situations is the same one that applies to newbies on the beat being goaded or berated by an interviewee — you don’t interfere. Interfering further embarrasses the bullied party. It smacks of Dad showing up during recess to break up a fight.

It’s in the nature of the job to get yourself into trouble. Every one of us figures how to dig their way out. It’s a Spartan ritual. Once completed, it’s a badge of honour. ‘The time such-and-such a player took a run at me in public’ is the most frequent theme of sportswriter war stories. A.J. Burnett had his own sub-genre.

Generally speaking, a strange sort of equality has crept through professional locker rooms. Now the players fear and distrust the women just as much as they do the men. That would be one way to view the Keith/Thomson interaction — as proof of an angry, level playing field.

That is not the way any of us prefer it, but we understand why it must be so. It’s hard to love your critics. It’s especially hard when you don’t believe they have the necessary bonafides to criticize.

The disconnect is in how athletes view the media. They think we are posturing as experts. Most of us aren’t. We’re storytellers. We want them to tell us the story. Sometimes, that will involve friction, and other times, enough friction to light a fire.

On Monday night, Karen Thomson did her job, and then Duncan Keith did his. He gave her a story. Some harm, but certainly no foul.

Those who would ‘protect’ Thomson don’t understand the rules of our trade. None of us need protecting. We have our own code.

Thomson best expressed this herself in what reads as a elated tweet after stirring up a talking point. She ended it with ‘#heldmyown.’

The Keiths of the world may think they’ve stung Thomson by letting her know she isn’t one of them. To which the genderless fraternity who do this work would say, ‘Exactly. She’s one of us.’