RIP Roger Angell, One of the Best to Ever Do It
Calling Roger Angell “a baseball writer” is like calling Michelangelo a marble worker. Sure, it was the material he used, but what he crafted from it was more indelible, more life-giving, than anything about a little sport could be. Don’t take my word for it, here’s a a selection from Angell’s work that was read on the Mets broadcast tonight:
I think Roger would’ve enjoyed that his tribute came with the Mets down 8 runs. As he took to their perpetual underdog status.
Roger Angell died yesterday at the age of 101. I never met him. Carl Bialik and I tried to book him pretty much every time we did a baseball-themed night of our Varsity Letters sports reading series. When he responded, he was magnanimous in declining us — “please ask again in February or so” — and at some point, we realized he was being kind, and maybe we were pestering an old man.
Still every time a baseball season rolled around and we were treated to a dispatch from him, it felt like something to be savored. Roger Angell writing about Didi Gregorius (I think maybe he liked the rhythm of his name) put the former Yankee shortstop in the same historical canon as Joe DiMaggio or Bob Gibson. Only Vin Scully had the same power to confer on a contemporary ballplayer a direct link to baseball history.
As I said, I’ve never met Roger Angell, and I’ll leave the proper eulogizing to those tremendous writers who have. If you haven’t already, read David Remnick (duh) who had the privilege of serving as his editor at the New Yorker, where Angell spent 75 years of his writing career. Or Jason Gay, who shares Angell’s unique ability to make writing about sports feel more important than it is by fully acknowledging how little it matters.
But most importantly, read Roger Angell. You might want to start at the end — I read This Old Man over Shabbat, and when I got done crying, I wanted to go out and hug the oldest people I could find. His writing about the invisibility of old age made me feel almost guilty:
The others look at me politely, then resume the talk exactly at the point where they’ve just left it. What? Hello? Didn’t I just say something? Have I left the room? Have I experienced what neurologists call a TIA—a transient ischemic attack? I didn’t expect to take over the chat but did await a word or two of response. Not tonight, though. (Women I know say that this began to happen to them when they passed fifty.) When I mention the phenomenon to anyone around my age, I get back nods and smiles. Yes, we’re invisible. Honored, respected, even loved, but not quite worth listening to anymore. You’ve had your turn, Pops; now it’s ours.
I shared this sentiment over Twitter, and saw that it struck a chord with more people than my usual sardonic NBA takes, so I thought I’d share it on my defunct listserve.
So go make yourself a dry martini (Roger’s favorite), treat yourself to some beautiful writing, and delight in the company of an old friend.
Here’s some other good stuff I read lately:
The Crypto Crash Feels Amazing, by Ian Bogost, The Atlantic — The headline kind of says it all. Can you monetize schadenfreude?
The God Squad, Dirt. I’m not from the South, nor have I spent a lot time there, but everyone I know who has says that Righteous Gemstones and the rest of the Danny McBride oeuvre is a spot-on reflection of the culture, so I’m inclined to believe them.
The Problem with Jon Stewart, The Atlantic — This is pretty damning of Stewart, and also of the political generation he helped come of age, pointing out that in the end, it was Tucker Carlson who has actually come out ahead in their infamous exchange. To me, I think back on Stewart/Colbert’s rally in Washington that drew over 200k people, and the only cause they could think to put it towards was the Trust for the National Mall. When you train a generation on sarcasm, irony, and apathy, you’re ceding the ground to the people who actually give a damn, and everyone has to live with the consequences.
The Stolen Kids of Sarah Lawrence By Ezra Marcus and James D. Walsh, The Cut — Who doesn’t love a great cult story? This one is from a few years ago and came across my radar when the guy was actually convicted, but includes its share of WTF moments.