“We should start back,” said Tebros, pointing to a swift military formation scratched onto a scroll. The scrimmage yards told a grim tale: third and eight after an incomplete pass. His fellow Paytriotes shrugged and shuffled their feet across the Training Camp’s field of battle, like timid trolls scared to enter a line dance with vixens.
Sunday, February 17th I’m looking for Human Growth. Mackendrick says not to call it that. Call it “vitamins” he says. Don’t even write the word down, he says. “Are you writing my name?” he says. “Jesus Christ, stop writing down everything I’m saying.” Call it a birthday present from my Swiss cousin. Call it a live ferret. Anything but what it is, even though everyone uses them now. Nerds with allergies even. Ha ha ha.
I joined a cult this week. Pretty fun. Well-organized. Addictive, sure, and the acolytes are rabid, but the devices are user-friendly, and I’m starting to make friends. If I prove myself, I may even climb the ranks toward a higher ranking and be given new privileges. We even have our own app. That’s right, infidel: there’s an app for us. And it may yet save your soul.
On Saturday afternoon I watched the gaunt and jaunty Mr. Met trot out from right field to unleash an onslaught upon the ambivalent, half-filled stands of Citi Field. Those of us willing to watch the Mets fall to the Kansas City Royals in a 4-3 twelve inning war of attrition rose up and offered our richest enthusiasm of the day. Not to a swift diving catch or seam-splitting dinger. These vigorous roars of excitement went to a person (gender, race, […]
In writing about the art of sport, and the potential poetics of these games, there is a temptation to chase secret mechanics in the language of memoirs, biographies, histories, and the like. I’m always looking for a captivating, well-written book that will offer insights not merely into the experiences of athletes – teamwork, practice, composure – but the hard data of the game. How to Throw a Curveball, How to Rebound, How to Render an Opponent Unconscious. This pursuit is […]
Since its publication in 1973, Thomas Pynchon’s acclaimed novel Gravity’s Rainbow has been a marvel of verbiage which has delighted and perplexed all who dare crack its pages. Most startling of all are new revelations that some of the book’s most artful and curious phrases bare striking parallels to the inner life of Lebron James, a twenty-eight year old professional basketball sensation who has been named the NBA’s Most Valuable Player four times, yet has hosted the ESPY Awards only […]
Poetry in Motion: Yankees, Red Sox, Jay-Z, Justin Timberlake, Graham Greene, and the Impending Apocalypse
On Saturday night I attended a game at Yankees Stadium, between the local pinstriped and the visiting Boston Red Sox. It was an infinitely more engaging, pleasurable and humane version of a war reenactment, or a spirited salon. In this bloodbath, more of arms than wits, the Red Sox trounced the Yanks by the criminal score of 11-1. This slaughter began with a grand slam from Sox first basemen Mike Napoli, who at press time may have one of the […]
In our continuing unification of the sporting life with that of the bookish, bespectacled square, we bring you our initial foray into the wide world of hockey. Anglo-Norman facial features of the ruggedly handsome were interchangeable between some of the NHL’s all-time greats and some of the most smarty-pants of intellectuals that 1960s France had to offer. Do you think you have what it takes to tell who’s who simply from out of context photos of questionable origin? Play along, […]