Thursday, November 18, 2004
This week's issue of The New Yorker arrived yesterday, and since A. was out of town I was able to get my hands on it before it disappeared into the pile of Things I Plan On Getting To. I don't usually see the magazine until it has passed through the hands of everyone else in the household, so it is seldom a very topical read for me-- if I depended on it for news, I'd just now be devastated about Al Gore losing.
My New Yorker methodology is, I think, the only reasonable one: I go cover to cover, and read it all. Listings, advertisements, Talk of the Town, articles, fiction, the back of the book reviews. Many people-- and I'm not naming names here-- flip through it, looking at the cartoons, and make mental promises to go back and read the articles. Then the magazine goes into the TIPOGT pile. This is not my way.
All of which is by way of saying that the recap of the baseball season just past by Roger Angell is one of the little things that make life nicer. It was a thrilling season, but sometimes the ultimate resolution blurs or obscures all of the elements that make following the sport pleasurable. Angell reminds us of, for example, Jeter's going into the stands to make that spectacular catch, and suddenly on a rainy November night I can recall July. Angell has been writing these pieces since Ty Cobb was playing Legion ball, and someday they'll come to an end. I can't think of anyone else writing about sports today who does it as well.
My New Yorker methodology is, I think, the only reasonable one: I go cover to cover, and read it all. Listings, advertisements, Talk of the Town, articles, fiction, the back of the book reviews. Many people-- and I'm not naming names here-- flip through it, looking at the cartoons, and make mental promises to go back and read the articles. Then the magazine goes into the TIPOGT pile. This is not my way.
All of which is by way of saying that the recap of the baseball season just past by Roger Angell is one of the little things that make life nicer. It was a thrilling season, but sometimes the ultimate resolution blurs or obscures all of the elements that make following the sport pleasurable. Angell reminds us of, for example, Jeter's going into the stands to make that spectacular catch, and suddenly on a rainy November night I can recall July. Angell has been writing these pieces since Ty Cobb was playing Legion ball, and someday they'll come to an end. I can't think of anyone else writing about sports today who does it as well.
