A Post About Sports and Writing

Today’s post can be found at http://www.sfnovelists.com, the group blog on speculative fiction that I maintain along with a group of over one hundred published authors of fantasy and science fiction. The post is called “What sports Can Tell Us About Writing, and What they Can’t.” I hope you enjoy it.

EIGHT MEN OUT and the Game I Used to Love

We watched John Sayles’ movie Eight Men Out last night.  Netflix, of course.  It’s an old movie.  It came out in 1988, right around the same time as Field of Dreams, when  hollywood seemed to be in the midst of a mini-obsession with the Shoeless Joe Jackson story.  Hollywood does this — remember when Tombstone and Wyatt Earp came out within months of each other, after we’d gone years without seeing a movie about Earp?  But I digress….

For those of you who don’t know, Eight Men Out tells the story of the Black Sox scandal of 1919.  Seven players on the American League champion Chicago White Sox — including pitchers Eddie Cicotte and Lefty Williams, position players Happy Felsch, Chick Gandil, Swede Risberg, Fred McMullen, and Jackson, who was one of the game’s greatest stars —  conspired with a group of gamblers to throw the series to the Cincinnati Reds.  The Sox were the overwhelming favorites going into the series, and the conspirators believed that they could make a killing by betting on the Reds and letting them win.  Some of the players were more enthusiastic participants than others.  Jackson always claimed that he went along for the money but did nothing to help the Reds win any games.  Sayles film portrays him as naive, uneducated, and very much a victim of his manipulative, smarter teammates.  An eighth player, Buck Weaver, knew of the conspiracy but took no money and played to win throughout the series.  Sayles portrays him as a victim of his teammates’ malfeasance as well.  All eight players were charged and put on trial, and all of them were eventually acquitted.

By this time, however, baseball’s owners had hired the sport’s first commissioner, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who vowed to clean up major league baseball.  Landis chose to make an example of the eight Black Sox players and banned all of them from the game for the rest of their lives.  The ban was the only thing that kept Jackson from being elected to baseball’s Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY.

It was a good movie — not great, but good.  And I’ve been thinking about it all morning.  I’m a huge baseball fan.  Or at least I used to be.  The recent revelations about widespread steroid use among some of the games biggest stars have shaken my faith in the game.  Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Rafael Palmeiro, Manny Ramirez, Alex Rodriguez — all have admitted using steroids or have been implicated so convincingly that their continued denials have become meaningless.  Other players are known to have used performance enhancing drugs, and several of them have been suspended temporarily.

And yet, over the past 50 years, only one player in Major League Baseball has faced a lifetime ban from the game like the one given to the eight Black Sox conspirators.  That one is Pete Rose, who didn’t use steroids, but did, it seems, bet on baseball games in clear violation of the league’s rules on gambling.  Rose’s ban was handed down by then-commissioner Bart Giamatti, but it was almost as if the ghost of Mountain Landis was hovering over the game.  Baseball has a thing about gambling that can be traced directly back to 1919, and Rose’s ban reflected that.  Now don’t get me wrong:  I’m not defending Pete Rose.  I’m not even suggesting that Rose’s ban should be lifted (although I think that a case could be made for this).  The truth is, never liked Pete Rose.  I always thought that if baseball hadn’t existed he would have spent his life as a small-time thug.

But just as the men who ran baseball in 1919 turned a blind eye toward the corruptive influence of gambling on the game until Landis forced them to face the problem and deal with it, today’s owners and the media outlets that account for much of their revenue, have ignored the steroid problem.  In 1998, when McGwire and Sosa staged their epic joint assault on Roger Maris’s single season home run record, baseball was still reeling from the 1994 strike that nearly destroyed the sport.  Never mind that McGwire’s arms looked like something out of a Popeye cartoon.  Never mind that Sosa had transformed himself from a skinny little kid who could run fast into the most consistently prolific home run hitter the sport had ever seen.  It was all good!  The balls were flying out of the park and the sport was popular again.

I was always a small kid, and I’m a small grown-up.  One of the things I loved about baseball was that there was a place in the game for guys like me.  Unlike football or basketball, which demanded that its stars be huge, baseball could be played and won by smaller players.  Sure, everyone loved Babe Ruth.  But if a guy could bunt and steal a base and slap a key hit to the opposite field, he could win ball games for his team.  The game that I see on TV today isn’t like that, at least not the way it used to be.  Everyone is expected to hit home runs.  And everyone does.  Which means that everyone is suspect.  Look at a major league roster these days and you’ll see guys with Popeye forearms playing every position.  Are all of them juicing?  I want to say no, of course not.  But in all honesty, I don’t know.  When the penalty for using steroids is a fifty game suspension that still leaves intact two-thirds of a multi-million dollar annual contract, it’s hard to see why players wouldn’t juice.  The downside risk is minimal; the upside earning potential is staggering.

But a lifetime ban would balance that equation.  Alex Rodriguez is a great player.  So was Barry Bonds.  Their accomplishments on the field, however, have been forever compromised by the fact that they cheated.  Playing baseball at the major league level is not a right, it’s a privilege.  If placing a bet on a baseball game is cause to strip a player of that privilege, isn’t using steroids?  If Joe Jackson and his fellow conspirators are considered cheaters because they influenced the outcome of games by not trying hard enough, shouldn’t Manny Ramirez be considered a cheater for influencing the outcome of games by making himself into a juiced-up physical freak?  Isn’t it possible that baseball needs to be saved again, even if it means barring from the game some of its greatest stars?

I used to love baseball, but the game lost me when it decided to tolerate lies for the sake of television revenue.  If baseball can lose me, it can lose any and every fan.  I loved it that much.  The only way to get me back is for its leaders to say, “Enough!  If you cheat, you leave, never to return.”  The fact that this hasn’t happened yet tells me that the steroid problem is so big, baseball’s owners and commissioner can’t afford to take such a stand.  There’d be no one left.

Interview with Edmund Schubert

I’ve mentioned Edmund Schubert in this space many times before.  Ed is the editor of Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show.  He also edits a couple of magaizines outside our genre.  He’s written many short stories, and as of this month he is a published novelist.  He’s a dad, a Mets fan, and the owner of several very loud shirts that he insists on wearing to conventions.  In addition to all of this, he’s incredibly bright, outrageously funny, and as nice a person as you could every hope to meet.  He and I give each other a hard time whenever we’re together, but the fact is he’s one of my favorite people in the world.  With his first novel, Dreaming Creek, now in print and available from your favorite book dealers, I thought this was a good time to post an interview.  (I’m pretty clever that way.)  Enjoy

 

Another BOW Award for McCain — Surprise!

Most of the major organizations that give out awards — the Academy of Motion  Picture Arts and Sciences, which gives the Oscars; the Baseball Writers Association of America, which gives the Most Valuable Player, Cy Young, and Rookie of the Year Awards to name a few — don’t like to recognize the same person twice in a row.  Generally it takes a performance in the second year that is so overwhelming that it simply can’t be ignored.  For instance, Tom Hanks won the Oscar in 1993 for his terrific performance in Philadelphia.  But the following year his work in Forrest Gump was so outstanding that the Academy had to give him the award again.  Same with Mickey Mantle’s back-to-back MVP awards in 1956 and 1957 — he was the best player in the league both years.  How could the baseball writers deny him the award?

 

Well, gentle readers, I find myself in the same position with this week’s BOW (Buffoon Of the Week) Award.  Last week’s deserving winner was Republican Presidential candidate John McCain, whose statements and actions in the wake of the Russian military’s incursion into Georgia were shameful and reckless.  How could I have known that McCain would outdo himself this week?  How could I have guessed that in a week relatively short on buffoonery, McCain would come up with such a remarkable gaffe?  Actually, I suppose if I’d been watching the previous six months of his campaign more closely, I would have been prepared for this. . . .

A Post About Baseball; It’s Been A While

The other day I was reading the New Yorker, which I do when I exercise, and I came across an amusing cartoon.  It shows a pitcher and catcher talking on the pitcher’s mound in the middle of a game in front of a stadium full of fans.  The pitcher is saying, “I’m sure I could keep my slider down if they’d just fire the manager.”  Got me thinking.

I haven’t posted anything about baseball pretty much all season long, mostly because I’ve been so disappointed in my Mets.  The firing of their manager, Willie Randolph, a few weeks ago saddened me even more.  Now before this becomes a big “thing”, I’m not saying that I don’t think they should have fired Willie.  I’m not saying that I agree with the firing either.  I’m not sure one way or the other.  The team has played well for interim manager Jerry Manuel, a guy I’ve always thought was a decent coach and manager.  And I think that Willie himself had become a distraction for the team, simply because after last season’s September collapse and this year’s poor start, he was a marked man.  On the other hand, I think that the team played poorly at the end of last year and the first half of this season not because Willie managed them poorly, but because their starting pitching was shaky, their middle relief has never regained the form it showed in 2006, and Billy Wagner always seems to be one pitch away from disaster.

Randolph has always been a class act.  He was a terrific second baseman for the Yankees during their late-seventies glory days.  He was solid if not spectacular in the field, he could steal a base, he had great strike-zone judgment, and he came through with a good many clutch hits throughout his career.   He has long been an intelligent and insightful student of the game and was a key member of Joe Torre’s staff during the best years of Torre’s tenure as Yankee manager.  I’m sad for him, and I hope he finds a new position soon.  He’s too good a manager not to be running someone’s team.

Here’s hoping as well that the Mets perform to their full potential during the second half of the season.  They’re only a few games out of first, and with Reyes, Beltran, and Wright playing well, and Carlos Delgado poised for a big second half, they could make a run at the playoffs.

A Wedding and an Anniversary

Nancy and I went to a wedding today, which we hadn’t done in some time.  For a while there, everyone we knew was getting married (us, too).  Then everyone was having babies (us, too).  Now, perhaps we’re entering second wedding territory (hopefully not us, too…).  Today’s wedding was a second time around for one of them, first for the other.  It was a lovely ceremony, followed by a simple and very pleasant reception.

Naturally it all reminded me vividly of our wedding, which took place seventeen years ago tomorrow.  A year ago today we had our rehearsal and rehearsal lunch (my father managed to get lost driving to both events and wound up being late to each by nearly an hour).  And then we had our pre-wedding softball game.  Great fun:  one team for the groom and one team for the bride — friends of each were evenly distributed among both teams, so as not to create the appearance of a grudge match.  Nancy had special privileges as the bride.  She was allowed to leave the field to chat with whomever she wanted, and could choose to bat at any time, regardless of which team was batting.

To this day, it remains one of the most wonderful weekends I’ve ever had, probably in part because the seventeen years since have been pretty cool.  In any case, to all of you celebrating Memorial Day weekend anniversaries or weddings, congratulations.

Blog Slacking

You know, I was going great with this blog for a while there.  Through Wednesday of last week, May 14, I’d blogged every day of 2008.  Then on Thursday I worked most of the day before rushing down to Chattanooga to catch a minor league baseball game.  Got home late and decided not to post.  I was tired, I knew that with late summer travel plans I wouldn’t be able to blog every day all year, so I just figured, screw it.  I’ll blog tomorrow. 

Since then I’ve missed Sunday and damn near missed today, too.  Turns out, that every-day-of-the-year thing had been keeping me going.  Now I need to get back on track with it.

And I will.  Tomorrow….

April Fools’ Day

My kids came down to breakfast today all riled up because they’d heard on the radio that Barack Obama was dropping out of the Presidential race.  My nine year-old, who is a Hillary supporter (yes, like the National Democratic Party, ours is a house divided) was excited.  My twelve year-old, who is an Obamaniac, was a bit more skeptical, but she wanted to make certain that the report they’d heard on the radio (which apparently included a clip of Obama announcing his withdrawal “in his own voice”) was merely an April Fools’ prank.  I assured her that it was.

Maybe it’s just me, but this seemed a pretty clumsy attempt to fool people.  If you’re a radio station looking to trick your listeners, and your target audience turns out to be somewhere between the ages of 9 and 12, you’re aiming too low.  Off the top of my head I was able to think of several false stories that would have been far more convincing.

Let’s start with the obvious:  tell us it’s Hillary Clinton who’s dropping out rather than Obama.  THAT would have gotten my attention.  I still would have been skeptical, but at least she’s in more of a position to give up the race.  The guy with the lead in money, delegates, popular vote, and current horse race numbers probably isn’t going to quit….

Or tell us that John McCain has chosen his running mate and will announce the name at noon today.  Drop a few names as possibilities — Crist, Rice, Huckabee, Romney, Pawlenty. And then throw in a whopper just to make it interesting:  Lieberman.

Or, with baseball season starting up again, tell us that new names have surfaced in the steroid scandal, including not only several current major leaguers, but also Vice President Dick Cheney.  As proof, point to Cheney’s baldness, his jowly look, his hyper-aggressive statements and behavior.  That one I’d believe….

Happy April Fools’ Day all.  Oh, and by the way, did I mention that I’ve decided to pitch the whole writer thing and run for Congress?  Yeah.  I think voters here in rural Tennessee are ready to elect a liberal New York Jew with a beard and an earring.

Today’s music:  Sphere

Opening Day

It’s a bit early in the year, but nevertheless, today marks the opening of the 2008 Major League Baseball season.  It’s before 8:00 am here and the first game is being played right now.  How weird.  Red Sox-Athletics, in Tokyo.  Part of MLB’s continuing effort to expand the game globally.

In spite of everything that has happened in the baseball world over the past several years, I remain a committed fan.  Here’s hoping that this season brings competitive pennant races, spectacular individual achievements, and an end to the steroid/HGH scandal.

Happy Opening Day, everyone.

Go Mets!

Birthday Post

What do Darryl Strawberry, Liza Minnelli, and James Taylor have in common?  Okay, yes, they all have had problems with substance abuse.  Let me be a bit more specific.  What do they (and Little Feat keyboardist Bill Payne) have in common with me?

Yup, that’s right.  Today is our birthday.  All of us.   And, I’m happy to the report that of the five of us, I’m the youngest.

I’ve never been much of a Liza Minnelli fan — just not my style of entertainment — and though I liked Darryl Strawberry when he was with the Mets, I was deeply disappointed in the way his career ended.  I’m sure he was too.  But I have been a fan of James Taylor since I was seven years old and my older brother first played for me his brand new copy of Sweet Baby James.  When the rest of my friends were listening to Free To Be You and Me and other insipid kids’ music, I was listening to Mud Slide Slim and One Man Dog.  When my cool friends in junior high were listening to Zeppelin and CSN and the Dead, I was too, but I was also listening to Gorilla and In the Pocket.  I didn’t tell my friends, of course.  James wasn’t cool; at least he wasn’t to them.  Once I reached high school I started caring less what other people thought of my musical taste.  I listened to JT and Flag and Dad Loves His Work, and I didn’t hide it from anyone.

I still listen to James Taylor.  I have pretty much every album he’s put out (except for the disc of Christmas tunes and some greatest hits collections made up of songs I already have on other recordings).  And I still encounter people who make it clear to me that this is not cool music, that it’s too mellow, too close to “Easy Listenin’”.  I couldn’t care less.  For me James Taylor’s music is like New York style pizza.  It’s like Guy Gavriel Kay’s Fionavar Tapestry.  It’s like M*A*S*H reruns.  It might not be the finest music in the world, but it’s familiar, and it’s comforting, and it’s damn good.

Taylor’s lyrics have always been sensitive and insightful.  At times they’re brilliant.  The song “Gaia” on the Hourglass album might be the most moving elegy for our environment anyone has written.  His melodies manage to be appealing without being trite.  

It’s been forty years since his first release; thirty-eight since “Fire and Rain” reached number 3 on the Billboard Top Forty. Taylor has enjoyed a good deal of success at points in his career.  He’s experienced lean periods as well.  But he never sold out, never tailored (pardon the pun) his sound to the market.  Forty years.  You’ve got to admire that.

James Taylor turns sixty today.  And as one birthday boy to another, I wish him the best, and I thank him for all that his music has given me over the years.

Today’s music:  “One Man Dog”