“Good God A’mighty! Another base hit.”*

by chuckofish

A few weeks ago, after I watched the movie 42 (2013), I started reading up a bit about Jackie Robinson and I came across the book The Boys of Summer by Roger Kahn.

It was a bestseller when it was published in 1971. I bought a used copy online and started reading. It is really good! I was a big fan in the mid-sixties when I was a little girl, and although I am not a big baseball fan anymore, I have always contended that it is the best sport. This is because everyone, from little children to old ladies, can understand it. It is not an overly violent game and finesse wins over brute force. Indeed, it is a majestic and heroic game where one man stands up alone against nine players of the other team–sometimes in front of thousands of people.

You may recall that the famous 20th century poet Marianne Moore was a huge fan of the Brooklyn Dodgers and wrote poems about them.

(Read the whole poem here.)

Anyway, Roger Kahn grew up in Brooklyn, a hop, skip and a jump from Ebbets Field where the Dodgers played. He lived and breathed the game. After college he went to work as a night copyboy at the New York Herald Tribune. His descriptions of growing up and of being a fledgling newspaper writer are funny, moving and detailed. I am really enjoying it.

As you know, our grandfather, ANC Jr., was a newspaperman who worked on the New York Times as well as the Herald Tribune, so this is especially interesting as a window into mid century journalism, which bears absolutely no similarity to today’s digital scribbling. These writers worked hard and took pride in their work. They were good writers.

So if you are so inclined, I highly recommend The Boys of Summer.

I should mention that Brooks Robinson, the Hall of Famer who played all 23 years of his professional baseball career with the Baltimore Orioles, died last week. He was my favorite non-Cardinal back in the day. He had class. Also Adam Wainwright retired last weekend after quite a career in St. Louis. He has class too. (And look at that wingspan.)

Unlike most, a ball player must confront two deaths. First, between the ages of thirty and forty he perishes as an athlete. Although he looks trim and feels vigorous and retains unusual coordination, the superlative reflexes, the major league reflexes, pass on. At a point when many of his classmates are newly confident and rising in other fields, he finds that he can no longer hit a very good fast ball or reach a grounder four strides to his right. At thirty-five he is is experiencing the truth of finality. As his major league career is ending, all things will end. However he sprang, he was always earthbound. Mortality embraces him. The golden age has passed in a moment. So will all things. So will all moments.

(Roger Kahn, The Boys of Summer)

In other news, bears are causing problems in of all places Japan! Indeed, the Japanese have deployed giant robot wolves to intimidate marauding bears. This is not science fiction.

Enjoy your Tuesday. Embrace the moment.

“Pee Wee Reese, shortstop, Brooklyn Dodgers