Sunday, July 27, 2014
Angellic
I have been reading Roger Angell in The New Yorker for years. It has been a puzzle to me how he could have been writing there when I started and is still at it. This might be a result of his being 93 today.
The one kind of article I didn't read much was his work on baseball. But when I did, I was fascinated and informed. I just wasn't that interested in baseball.
Now he is appreciated by none other than the bitch Maureen Dowd who I do not read as a matter of conviction. I hate her ass intensely. She calls Mr. Obama Barry and has an attitude that I really do not like at all. But I read this. Because it was about Angell.
He is being inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. A special award for writers of the game.
He is obviously thrilled. He did not set out to be a baseball writer and, in fact, he wrote about everything under the sun. But his baseball columns became popular and so he went for it along with his editor William Shawn. A fluke.
The only time I ever wanted to read about the game. He made it attractive and interesting.
Also, look how neat his desk is.
I am glad he is still alive and, apparently, kicking.
Good for him.
