I’ve been reading a lot about baseball lately. In The Man with Two Arms by Billy Lombardo (coming in February 2010), a new father is thinking about his soon-to-be-born son.

What about baseball? Now there was a gift he could give. Baseball was about grace and beauty and character, it was about strength and achievement. It was about competition. It was about fathers and sons, and for the luckiest of mortals it was a way to play into adulthood. It was the best use of grass and dirt every dreamed in the heads of men.

In May, as a tribute to Ted Williams’ last at-bat, a new edition of John Updike’s New Yorker article, “Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu” will be released as a special publication by The Library of America. It’s the best piece of writing about baseball I’ve ever read, and reread. Updike writes:

Williams is the classic ballplayer of the game on a hot August weekday, before a small crowd, when the only thing at stake is the tissue-thin difference between a thing done well and a thing done ill. Baseball is a game of the long season, of relentless and gradual averaging-out.

What is it about baseball and why are there so many beautifully written books about it, so many profound thoughts that spring from the game? Roger Angell and W.P. Kinsella’s many books, Michael Lewis’s Moneyball and Bernard Malamud’s The Natural among so many others are truly timeless and often better reads a second time. That doesn’t seem the case for football, basketball or other sports, just baseball.

As a resident of the upper northern hemisphere, I’m still physically and mentally preparing for that awful sunlight-deprived, cold, snowy time called winter, so when the local news show starts talking about pitchers and catchers reporting for spring training, I’m transported forward in time, and eagerly cracking open one of these great baseball books while waiting for the first crack of the bat.

I swear there is nobody funnier than John Cleese.
He created Fawlty Towers, one of the greatest television shows ever.
He wrote the Foreword to Andy Nulman’s great new book Pow! Right Between the Eyes.

Throughout my lengthy and illustrious career, from the beginning of Monty Python to the collapse of the communist system, I have learned the importance and value of surprise.
I once went to bed with the Duke of Kent.
There! You see what I mean? You were surprised by learning that I screwed his Grace, and so I got your attention. (I no doubt got the Duke of Kent’s attention even more.)
Another example:
Booo!!
See? It’s an old trick but it works, especially in the world of marketing. Where nobody–nobody–has the slightest idea what they’re talking about. (Incidentally, they have absolutely no idea that they have no idea what they’re talking about. This is what makes them sound so convincing.)
My arm fell off!!!!
Gotcha again!
To sum up, I think I can safely say that in examining the modern-day chronicles of surprise, there is perhaps no surprise greater than the fact that I actually agreed to provide a foreword to this book.
And with it, I have now officially paid off that lingering poker debt, and wish you an enjoyable read. Andy Nulman is not the slightest bit tall, but he makes me laugh. I like him. It will surprise me if you don’t. So buy this book. Or you will die.

I wish he had written the foreword to our book. Maybe next time.

David Foster Wallace died on September 12. I have read his collections of essays and I appreciated his, as The Wall Street Journal states “blending inventive language, intellect, humor, philosophy and cultural references in his writing.” Someday I will tackle his novels.

In 2005, he addressed the graduating class of Kenyon College. Friday’s WSJ has an abridged version of the speech here.

As Todd and I prepare for the publication of our book, I have come to appreciate the skill needed to convey thoughts in the spoken format. DFW was not only a remarkable writer but, as you can see, a remarkable speaker.

The world is a lesser place.

Jerry Seinfeld talks about George Carlin’s death here.

It was very sad for me to wake up this morning and hear the news. George Carlin is dead.
He was my generation’s comedian. Before Steve Martin and after Lenny Bruce, George Carlin was there.
Another local connection was that he was busted for disorderly conduct in Milwaukee for expressing his “Seven Words” on stage and was hauled off to the poky. Not one of our city’s better days.
Just check out youtube to see why he will be missed.

Robert Allen Zimmerman AKA Bob Dylan is 66 today. All the best and Happy Birthday!

We really are lucky to have lived during his lifetime. At least, I feel lucky