does this mean the ayatollahs in iran are michigan fans?

Sure looks like it, at least according to this photo, which we found today on Deadspin. It's been a while. But we're back. the life of kings is back.

"pitt basketball" and "jinx" is redundant anyway

On one hand, this is way cool: DeJuan Blair, he of the monster smile and monster game, gracing the cover of Sports Illustrated's College Basketball Preview issue. On the other hand, there's the notorious SI cover jinx, which posits that any subject gracing the cover of said magazine is doomed to endure some awful misfortune in the near future. But, really, if, like the life of kings, you're a Pitt fan, anytime before March is generally as good as it gets: A top 10 preseason ranking (SI has them No. 7 -- one of four Big East Conference teams in the Top 7), some big wins, perhaps another conference tournament title at Madison Square Garden, and then ... flop. A guaranteed early-out in the NCAA tournament. Pitt fans are accustomed to disappointment, you see. We're immune to jinxes, because the team we root for is an automatic letdown. They're guaranteed. It may even be somewhere in the academic curriculum, in fact. So let us now bask in the glory of having D-Blair on the cover, and let us crow about how good we think they're gonna be. Because deep down, we're already prepared for what's coming.

the life of kings returns to campus

Come to La Salle University for Homecoming this Saturday and getcha learn on.

"my friends," lanny frattare is retiring

Baseball, with its pauses, its gentle rhythms, its sudden bursts of excitement, seems almost meant to be listened to, as opposed to watched on television. And so it is that people who love baseball also develop a certain connection with the people who broadcast their favorite team's games on the radio. And while Phillies fans are certainly spoiled to have the whiskey-and-cigarettes-cured voice of Harry Kalas talking to them every night, there can be no doubting that Pirates fans of a certain age (ahem) have a great affection for Lanny Frattare, who announced his retirement today after 33 seasons behind the mic. Was Frattare the greatest? Hardly. Was he a bit of a homer? Sure. But so what? His voice will always be the sound I associate with the summertime of my childhood. Years ago, before most of the games were broadcast on television, my dad would always have the Pirates on the radio: in the kitchen, in the car, on the little transistor he would sometimes use with one of those ancient white ear-plug thingys. And more often than not, it was Frattare doing the talking, beginning each broadcast with his trademark, "My friends..." before punctuating the conclusion of every Pirates victory with "And there was nooooooo doubt about it." OK, so that latter call was derivative of Bob Prince's "We had 'em all the way," but Frattare had the unenviable task of replacing the beloved Gunner -- and he still managed to last three decades in doing it, more than anyone else in the franchise's history. Unlike many broadcasters who came on in more recent times, Frattare was measured and even-keeled, reserving his true enthusiasm for moments that genuinely deserved it -- something that, sadly, has happened less often than not in the team's current 16-season drought of losing. I guess I liked Frattare's low-key approach precisely because it was so unremarkable: I'd often forget about him in recent years until I'd be driving back to Pittsburgh before putting on the radio to simply check the score. But then I'd hear him, and suddenly I'd be transported back to a hot summer night in the backyard, complete with lightning bugs and crickets and the smell of tomatoes ripening in the garden as Frattare's voice slieced through the stillness with a careful narration of what came next. He will be missed.

the record-tying suckitude of the pittsburgh pirates

They didn't let us down. Well, they couldn't, really, not with how God-awful they've been for so long. And not after their latest chapter of selling off veteran talent for marginal at best potential prospects this summer. But the Pittsburgh Pirates have done it: With Sunday's 11-6 loss to the Giants in San Francisco, they've officially clinched their 16th consecutive losing season, a mark of futility that ties the North American professional sports record. No easy task, to be sure. Cue the head-shaking reminisciences, and cue the usual taunts from the national media, complete with the falsehood that this streak began because the Pirates had chosen to keep Andy Van Slyke and not Barry Bonds way back when -- ignorant hindsight that ignores the fact that Bonds had wanted nothing to do with the Buccos after 1992. But whatever. We're stuck with them, and given the current state of affairs, there's really no telling how much longer such suckitude will go on. Heck, the one positive we had -- this summer's drafting and eventual signing of can't-miss third-base prospect Pedro Alvarez -- has since been taken from us, too, with no definitive end in sight. So there you have it. Pour yourself an Imp & an Iron, Pirates fans. Because they didn't let us down, even though that's all they've been doing for 16 consecutive seasons of sorry baseball. And counting.

g.w. miller on the evolution of journalism

Interesting piece by Temple professor G.W. Miller III in the current Philadelphia Weekly about the future of journalism -- print, broadcast and online. Trust me: It's the kind of work you do because you love it. But it's the Wild, Wild West out there right now, and we'll have to see what happens...

the life of kings broadcasting division

From the Department of Self-Promotion: I did play-by-play for a high school football game up in Bucks County last night for the web site of WPVI Channel 6, the local ABC affiliate here in Philly. The broadcast is archived at 6abc.com, and you can access it by clicking here. I was a last-minute choice and had zero time to prepare, but I was also on my own and doing this for the first time, so it's probably pretty bad. By the end of the game, when the action got good, I think I did OK. Or not. If you're in for a good laugh, check it out.

And yes, Pirates fans, I'll be weighing in on the sudden, dramatic turn in the Pedro Alvarez-Scott Boras situation before the weekend is out. Stay tuned.

thoughts on smoking in bars

Love the above ad that Triumph Brewing Co. in New Hope circulated to promote last night, the final one in which smokers were permitted to light up inside the joint. A few too-serious types didn't find the ad that appealing, of course, especially the bit about kids. But whatever. You can read what I wrote about the whole deal in today's Intelligencer and Bucks County Courier Times here.

Bottom line: I'm a non-smoker, but I've never supported laws outlawing smoking in bars and restaurants, simply because there's nothing to stop a bar or restaurant from going smoke-free on its own. In other words, let the market decide. Besides, by all indications, many people will no longer patronize a bar that allows smoking, so the laws are quickly becoming superfluous. That said, if I wished to cater to smokers, why can't I? As for the puritans who justify their smoke-free stance in the name of public health, why are some private clubs and other places that don't serve a lot of food exempt from the law, according to the bottom of this Philadelphia Inquirer report? Are employees and patrons of those places somehow less affected by smoke? Talk amongst yourselves, people.

the terrible towel is everywhere...

...including the Beijing Olympics, as indicated by the upper right corner of this photo of the women's beach volleyball medal ceremony. Beeker Buffoonery has the original screen capture from ESPN.com, but here's the photo anyway:

It's a Steeler Planet, people. Myron Cope would be proud, no doubt.

enjoy the olympics, even as they're held in a slave state

It was impossible not to have watched Michael Phelps, if only to marvel at the utter dominance he displayed in the pool. It's cool, too, that professional ballers like Kobe & LeBron actually seem happy to be competing in Beijing, and that they're genuinely interested in, you know, winning. But let's not overlook the absurdity of staging the Olympics in a place like China. Let's not forget that the Olympic ideal of one-worldism is at best just that: an ideal. At its worst, it's a dog-and-pony show that places the smiley face of moral equivalance on free nations and slave states alike, thereby providing dictators and tyrants with an international stamp of approval. When you read stuff like what's being done to protesters in and around Beijing, when you learn that actually questioning public officials in China is a foreign concept, even for foreign journalists -- and remember, this is only what we know, what's in full view for those visiting to observe -- you're left hoping that maybe some of this information will get to and inspire those who know in their hearts they deserve better as human beings.

a new gizmothingamajiggy for your browsing pleasure

My technological mastery (cough cough) continues: If you look to the left, you'll see I've added a search feature that will allow you to Google this site to find something that's been posted in the past, if that sort of thing is your bag and all. Pretty fancy, huh?

pirates sign alvarez, get to keep me as a fan

They did it. I had my doubts, and it literally couldn't have taken even a minute longer, but the Pirates signed first-round draft pick Pedro Alvarez just before the midnight deadline last night. This is important, for several reasons, as I stated in an earlier dispatch. So let's give credit where credit is due to general manager Neal Huntington, who has touted building this team from the bottom-up (i.e., scouting & development) as his preferred method of rescuing this franchise: Alvarez is the precisely the sort of player the Pirates need to really kick-start things after years of posturing and giving fans little more than fireworks nights and bobblehead giveaways. But let's also breathe a sigh of relief, since I openly stated I would give up on the Buccos had they been unable to get Alvarez signed. I honestly didn't want to have to do that, to tell the truth. But whatever. They did it, and I'm still with them, which I'm proud to be saying this morning. Beat 'em Bucs, but let's start to see some results now, K?

while buddy guy's guitar (not-so) gently weeps

You're looking at a grainy cell phone photo of the one and only bluesman Buddy Guy cryin' and wailin' his way through a set at the Mann Music Center in Philly this evening. My cousin, Jack McDaniel, was there to take in the awesome from five feet away, and he sent this along just a few minutes ago. Buddy was making his way through the crowd, much he like he did when my brothers and I saw him from the front row as he rocked some tent along the Monongahela River in Pittsburgh about 100 years ago. Damn right.

MUST READ: charlie leduff, writer, goes to china with robert frank, photographer

MUST READ is a new, occasional feature here at the life of kings. With it, I will pass along something of particular interest for you to read and absorb, something that might make you laugh, cry, quiver, or just plain stop and think. The topic might concern sports, politics, art, movies, music, religion, culture, the stuff of living and dying. But the topic, I hope, will prove to be less important than the way in which it is conveyed, and the way in which you receive and interpret it. I hope you dig it, and I think you will. Enjoy.


Charlie LeDuff is a fantastic writer who has a knack for capturing the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. In 2004, he wrote a front-page story about a desert encampment of elderly drifters for The New York Times that remains a life of kings favorite for its detailed description of "a broken-down place of limited possibilities" for those who have "inherited the burden of living." LeDuff has also published a pair of books, one of which is Work and Other Sins: Life in New York City and Thereabouts, which is mostly a compilation of the "Bending Elbows" column he had written for The Times in the period before and after 9/11, plus numerous other short columns about the "fantastic nobodies" that populate New York City's streets and barrooms.

Not too long ago, LeDuff accompanied photographer Robert Frank, whom he describes as "the last human being to find anything new behind a viewfinder," to China, and he wrote about the trip for Vanity Fair. Frank's landmark book of black and white photographs, The Americans, turns 50 this year. As the 1950s gave way to the '60s, the book was considered groundbreaking for having foretold the social struggles that were to come -- a visual representation of what Jack Kerouac, in Desolation Angels, describes as "this modern America of crew cuts and sullen faces in Pontiacs." Frank commissioned Kerouac to write the book's introduction, and while LeDuff includes Kerouac's best quotes, it's worth noting that Kerouac also writes that the book captures "[t]hat crazy feeling in America when the sun is hot on the streets and the music comes out of the jukebox or from a nearby funeral." Or, as LeDuff writes:

The book became great for what it did in its time. Before Frank, the visual orientation of photographs had been straight, horizontal, vertical. The subject of the picture was always obvious. You knew what the picture was about and what it meant to say. Frank, the shadowy little man, came along and changed the angles, made graininess a virtue, obscure lighting a benefit. His pictures were messy; you weren’t sure what to feel, who or what to focus on. Perhaps more important, Frank intellectually changed photography — that is, what a photographer was supposed to look at. If Ansel Adams chose to capture the mightiness of nature, how could you argue with that? Where’s the fault in stone and sky and snow? There is no fault. And therein lies its fault. Frank snatched photography from the landscapists and the fashion portraitists and concentrated his lens on battered transvestites, women in housedresses, and sunken mouths. Life is not boulders and snow and perfume and chiffon. Life is difficult and sad and ephemeral. Life is flesh, not stone.

The Vanity Fair piece is LeDuff at his finest: getting to the center of his subject, even as difficult as it might be to understand him. Frank, to put it simply, epitomizes the mad genius of the artist: the selfishness, the limitlessness of his personal life, the willingness to sacrifice almost anything for the sake of his art:

Frank said he used to stare in on [Willem] de Kooning from his apartment on East Third Street, admiring not the work so much as the artist. “The abstraction, not with the brush but with the mind,” he said. “The simple self-centered intellectual life. He had a stove and a refrigerator and an easel and he would be in his underwear studying that canvas. This appealed very much to me. He made me think to take risks in life. That, for artistic freedom, you had to fight and suffer for people to accept it.”

There's so much more: from Frank's thoughts on digital photography and art school to his reminisciences (or what's left of them) of Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac to working with the Rolling Stones during the manic sessions that created the epic album Exile on Main St. But LeDuff gets to the heart of the matter after relaying what happened to Frank's children, whom the old man ackowledges he more or less ignored:

That, we both agreed, is the fantastic and fatal blessing of the American life. One can choose to be whatever one wants in America without the constraints of societal mores. One can live in Switzerland or China, but one must behave and believe as a Swiss or Chinese man is expected to. In America you might throw away those old structures and live however you choose. But if you do not replace the old structure with a new one, this freedom will explode in your face like a car battery. “So much guilt,” Frank said, rubbing his palms on his trousers. After a silence, he gave me this: “You can capture life, but you can’t control it.”

The entirety of LeDuff's essay for Vanity Fair can be read here.

why i'm pessimistic about the pittsburgh steelers

I'm breaking my own rule by thinking and talking about football before Labor Day, but an item about the Steelers' negotiations with free-agents-to-be in today's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette caught my eye and deserves comment. Here's the money quote from Ed Bouchette's story:

If the team has issues with its offensive line now, next season could be disastrous because [Marvel] Smith and new left guard Chris Kemoeatu will become unrestricted free agents if they remain unsigned. So, too, will Max Starks and Trai Essex, their top two backup tackles. Starting right tackle Willie Colon will become a restricted free agent. It's likely that Smith won't return if he's not signed to an extension over the next month.

The Steelers have a month to talk about extending current contracts because their rule is not to renegotiate deals once the season begins. OK, fine. But clearly, there'a a problem here. Remember, the offensive line allowed their franchise quarterback to be sacked 47 times last season, plus six more times in a playoff loss to Jacksonville. That franchise quarterback was then signed to an eight-year, $102 million extension, which is good. But how are they going to protect him? For better or for worse, they let Alan Faneca, arguably the best guard they ever had, leave in free agency -- a move I was OK with, considering how much Faneca wound up getting from the Noo Yawk Jets. But in the draft, the Steelers didn't pick on offensive lineman until the fourth round, leaving them essentially to scramble with what they had, plus the addition of free agent center Justin Hartwig, who battled injuries last year with the Carolina Panthers. And now, they seem to be in no real hurry to keep anyone else, particularly tackle Marvel Smith, who should be fully recovered from the back troubles that plagued him last year. Look, I like that they picked some sure-fire skill guys in the first two rounds in Rashard Mendenhall and Limas Sweed. But considering the Murderers' Row that is their 2008 schedule, and considering the obvious holes they had (and still seem to have) up front, is there any reason to expect that this will be a playoff team? And why, after all the years of attention that was paid to molding a first-rate, smash-mouth O-line, does this team now no longer make the guys up front a priority?

OK, that's enough. Back to summertime, though I will be weighing in on the Steelers' ownership dispute/situation in the coming days. You know you can't wait.

aleksandr solzhenitsyn, r.i.p.

Any guy who gave the finger to communism and to the old Soviet Union was my kinda guy. And no one, arguably, was more bold about it than Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. He certainly looked the part, with that stern Russian face, that dour countenance, that long beard, but he had also lived it: Solzhenitsyn experienced first-hand the barbaric prison camps, having been sentenced to eight years of hard labor for simply writing to a friend that the megalomanical monster Joseph Stalin was "the man with the mustache." Upon being sent to what The New York Times called in its obit of him "a desolate penal camp in Kazakhstan called Ekibastuz," this is what Solzhenitsyn was up against:

At Ekibastuz, any writing would be seized as contraband. So he devised a method that enabled him to retain even long sections of prose. After seeing Lithuanian Catholic prisoners fashion rosaries out of beads made from chewed bread, he asked them to make a similar chain for him, but with more beads. In his hands, each bead came to represent a passage that he would repeat to himself until he could say it without hesitation. Only then would he move on to the next bead. He later wrote that by the end of his prison term, he had committed to memory 12,000 lines in this way.

Imagine.

His witness, among others, was the harrowing and frightening Gulag Archipelago, a book, at the risk of sounding pretentious, I'm honestly proud to admit I've read. Solzhenitsyn's willingness to tell the truth -- "It is within the power of writers and artists to do much more: to defeat the lie!" he said -- not only exposed the fraud that was the so-called "worker's paradise," but the totalitarian grip to which it subjected millions of people the world over for much of the 20th century. Christopher Hitchens, in his awesome-if-qualified tribute at Slate, writes:

[H]e kept on writing. The Communist Party's goons could have torn it up or confiscated or burned it -- as they did sometimes -- but he continued putting it down on paper and keeping a bottom drawer filled for posterity. This is a kind of fortitude for which we do not have any facile name. The simplest way of phrasing it is to say that Solzhenitsyn lived "as if." Barely deigning to notice the sniggering, pick-nose bullies who followed him and harassed him, he carried on "as if" he were a free citizen, "as if" he had the right to study his own country's history, "as if" there were such a thing as human dignity.

David Remnick, the editor of The New Yorker, called him "the dominant writer of the 20th century" because of "the effect he has had on history." Born the year after the Russian Revolution, Solzhenitsyn outlived the Red Menace by nearly 17 years before dying late Sunday night at the age of 89. R.I.P.

here we go again: the pirates are sellers at the trade deadline

Once again, the Pirates have unloaded one of their top veteran players in a midseason trade with a contender. This time, they shipped leftfielder Jason Bay, easily the team's best, most visible player this decade, to the Boston Red Sawx. Much of this is not surprising, of course: The Buccos' new management has said from the start that it will try to build from the bottom -- that drafting, scouting and development within its farm system will be paramount to the big club's success. Of course, when you've been hearing that same sort of dribble drivel for as long as Pirates fans have, it has a tendency to go in one ear and out the other. We are, it seems, in Year 16 of an endless 5-Year Plan. But there does seem to be something a bit bolder and forward-thinking about the moves new GM Neal Huntington has made to shore up the shamefully barren system he inherited last fall. The analysis from Where Have You Gone, Andy Van Slyke? is cautiously optimistic, concluding as it does with the following dose of reality: "[T]he reason we've been rebuilding for fifteen years is that nobody's actually managed to do it right. Huntington's still got a long ways to go and a tough job ahead of him, but this trade is exactly what he needs to be doing." We shall see.

That said, I want to go on record with this: If the franchise is unable to sign top pick Pedro Alvarez by the Aug. 15 deadline, I hereby renounce them. They will no longer deserve my attention, or my heart. I'm serious about this. The Pirates have been woefully mismanaged for close to two decades now. As stated above, the new regime wants to develop talent in order to win, and I'm fine with that; they deserve a chance to right all the wrongs that were done before they took over. After years of drafting players they knew they could sign, the Pirates did the right thing and got the one they so obviously needed by picking Alvarez. But if they still can't buck up just to get him to report, then there will truly be no hope. There will truly be no need for them to exist as a Major League team. And there will truly be no reason for me to waste my time and energy caring about what they do. Yes, gentle reader, it's come to this: The Pittsburgh Pirates are on the clock with my heart.

harrisburg is crawling with thieves, charlatans, crooks

OK, raise your hand if you pay attention to the goings-on in Harrisburg, our state capital. Yeah, thought so -- state politics can often be as interesting as watching metal rust, paint dry, or soccer, all of which are equally tainted with tedium. But stick with me on this, gentle reader, because you need to understand what I'm sayin', and not just because the Capitol Rotunda really is a breathtaking structure. Our General Assembly, that less-than-august body of public servants that really is supposed to serve at our behest, is the second-largest state legislature in the country, and the largest that actually works full-time [pause for laughter]. But while you were off doing something else with your life, our lawmakers have proven time and again that they care not a wit about you, that they can take advantage of the fact that you're not paying attention because, hey, they can get away with it. And they do so in a true spirit of that notorious campaign word "bipartisanship," since Democrats are Republicans are equally crooked. In 2001, just after the dot-com-bubble bust, these bastards, with the blessing of then-Gov. Tom Ridge, wrote themselves a pension increase of 50 percent. But that was nuttin'. By 2005, in the dark of night, they literally stayed up til 2 a.m. [poor things] to write themselves a hefty pay increase. That time, anyway, the pigs were pretty much caught in the trough, and several of them were tossed out in the 2006 elections, when 50 new members were swept into office with promises of -- wait for it -- reform. Now, of course, comes word that 12 current and former state House Democrats have been charged by the state attorney general with paying bonuses to their employees to do campaign work. With taxpayers' dollars. Not only that, but according to John Baer's column in the Philadelphia Daily News the other day, only 18 of our 253 state House and Senate members -- why, again, is our legislature that big? -- have signed a petition calling for Gov. Rendell to hold a special session on ethics. Why? Because nobody's paying attention, that's why. Baer also notes that "56 percent of House members and 75 percent of Senate members seeking re-election face no opposition." Got that? Our legislature is an incumbent-protection racket, too. It gets worse. You know those casinos Gov. Rendell and others who lack the will to cut government spending have touted as a cure-all to pay for stuff without tax increases? Well, guess what: One of the guys in Philly who received a slots license is facing felony counts for perjury, while the guy in Pittsburgh who won his license even though another bidder promised to completely finance a new sports arena for the city is out of fucking money! This is all the fault of the Pennsylvania Gaming Control Board, but still: three of those jerks are appointed by the governor, while the other four are picked by the General Assembly. How could they have possibly vetted the backgrounds of these guys without knowing one had lied to them while the other was broke? It stinks on ice. All of it. I say throw the bums out this November. All of 'em.

esquire on 'how to drink alone'

A nice, tidy guide from Esquire magazine on how best to savor the subtle pleasures of sipping in solitude. I'm not so sure the time of day matters so much, nor do I think liquor is necessarily essential to the experience, as beer can certainly suffice. There is, however, much to be said for good lighting, so as to allow for good reading. And it never hurts to begin your barstool beguine by quietly uttering a toast to yourself, preferably something along the lines of, "Here's to absent friends. Fuck 'em."

a shallow thought

So I was driving down Street Road in Warminster this afternoon, and I couldn't help but notice two things that were affixed to the back of the Nissan Maxima that was tooling along in front of me: a license plate frame that reads, "Jesus Loves You," and one of those bumper stickers from Geno's Steaks that says, "Joey Vento of Geno's Steaks Says, 'This is America, When Ordering Please Speak English.' " Does that mean Jesus really only loves people who know how to say "Wiz wit"?

finding meaning from pirates 12, yankees 5

I've clearly been making a big deal out of the Pinstripes' long-awaited return to Pittsburgh, and last night's game provided the reason why. Consider the take of Where Have You Gone, Andy Van Slyke?, which clearly gleaned more from this game than an otherwise routine victory in late June:

Tonight, as the Pirates cruised with a 12-3 lead in the ninth inning and Franquellis Osoria on the mound, mopping up the last three outs, the fans stood on their feet and chanted, "LET'S GO BUCS! LET'S GO BUCS!" And maybe this game was on the North Side of Pittsburgh with an awful reliever on the mound as a bad Pirate team closed out a win over a struggling Yankee team in mid-June, but for one night everyone in the stands might as well have been in Oakland at Forbes Field in October of 1960, watching Roy Face close out a surprising Game 1 win over the vaunted Yankees, and singing, "The Bucs are going all the way!" That's what baseball can do to you sometimes, and that's why sometimes stupid interleague games in June that have no real bearing on the standings can mean the world to a bunch of fans.

I was at the All-Star Game at PNC Park in 2006, and what struck me most was how good it felt to observe people in Pittsburgh taking an interest in baseball again. Indeed, the buzz that filled the ballpark that night was palpable -- a reminder that there's still no sports feeling like a playoff baseball feeling, which is something Pirates fans certainly haven't felt for a loooong time. True, a lot of folks were at PNC last night to see the Yankees, but it was still a sellout crowd on a Tuesday night when there were no giveaways or gimmicks to attract people who simply had nothing better to do. And as Dejan's story in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette notes, this wasn't a crowd mainly made up of Yankees fans. It also wasn't a crowd that had some half-assed interest in what transpired on the field: They stayed til the end, and they were chanting for the Buccos right up until the last out. Baseball in Pittsburgh has been on life support for a long time, and while the current Pirates still have a long way to go, we are seeing signs of life, even if it's little more than just enough life to hold our interest until the Steelers get to St. Vincent. And last night, we can hope, was a great start.

(more) revisiting the 1960 world series

GREAT story and photos in today's New York Times about the Pirates' improbable World Series win over the Yanks, what with the teams meeting tonight in Pittsburgh for the first time since William Stanley Mazeroski ended the whole shebang with that home run at 3:36 p.m. on Oct. 13, 1960. Even for those who don't like sports, or who have little interest in them, this is the sort of story that clearly explains why sports are so cool. There's too much about that remarkable series in the article, so there's no point re-hashing it, but the money quote is right at the end, when the writer, Sean D. Hamill, interviews a young man who recently occasioned to visit the still-standing piece of the home run wall Maz's shot cleared on that glorious afternoon at old Forbes Field 48 years ago:

Recently, J. W. Eddy, 25, a Pirates fan from Uniontown, Pa., visited the remnants of that wall while taking a break from studying for the bar exam at the nearby University of Pittsburgh Law School. Why come to this old piece of brick wall to remember an event that occurred 23 years before he was even born? "It’s kind of sacred here, really," Eddy said. "To any true Pirate fan, it’s like folklore. You just come to touch some of that history."

Amen.

Maz is slated to throw out the first pitch tonight, which should be great. And, just to add to the cool, The Times has even re-printed George Silk's famous Life magazine photograph of cheering fans taking in the moment from atop the Cathedral of Learning, the University of Pittsburgh's towering campus landmark. Pretty neat.

yankees-pirates, 48 years later

When the New York Yankees last played in Pittsburgh, Bill Mazeroski did what he did and "made Mickey Mantle cry," as the young Colagero Anello tells Sonny LoSpecchio in A Bronx Tale, a movie moment that still makes everyone from Western Pennsylvania quietly pump their fists every time they see it, if not also causing them to point toward the screen and shout "HA HA!" to the annoyance of anyone else also present. All these years later, with the Bronx Bombers coming back for a sold-out interleague series at PNC Park starting Tuesday night, all the usual opportunities to wax nostalgic are out there. For starters, Gene Collier has a column in today's Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that points to the obvious economic disparities between the teams, though he fails to mention that if the Pirates were better run, they'd have been much more competitive in recent years. Books-wise, I'd recommend Jim Reisler's Best Game Ever, which totally stole my own idea for a book topic but really is a terrific read. And heck, for old-time's sake, let's take this opportunity to gaze at that famous photo of Maz as he approaches home plate in what will always be Pittsburgh's greatest sports moment:

BEAT 'EM BUCS!

george carlin, r.i.p.

Always was a fan of his act, but especially the one in which he articulated the differences between baseball and football. RIP.

what would crash think?

"Well, I believe in the soul ... the cock ... the pussy ... the small of a woman's back ... the hangin' curveball ... high fiber ... good scotch ... that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap ... I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a Constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. Goodnight." ~ Crash Davis, Bull Durham

Bill Conlin's column, in today's Philadelphia Daily News, brought to mind Crash Davis, played by Kevin Costner, and his unforgettable speech to Annie Savoy, played by Susan Sarandon, in one of the great baseball movies of all time. Conlin, after all these years, and after a long-winded history lesson he no doubt thinks impresses us at the start of his piece, has reached a different conclusion: He believes the time has come for the National League to adopt the designated hitter, if only because American League teams better take advantage of having that extra bat in the lineup. (No word on Conlin's take on the works of Susan Sontag, or the cock ... the pussy, etc.) There's something to be said for Conlin's position, given many of the points he makes, but I wonder if he would have bothered bringing it up at all had Yankees pitcher Chien-Ming Wang not injured himself circling the bases the other day in Houston. What Conlin also ignores is how much strategy is removed from the game when pitchers are forced to bat, to say nothing of the fact that the DH can also be viewed as a gimmick to prolong the careers of aging sluggers incapable of fielding a position. It's also a boon for for the players' union, which benefits greatly from the additional roster spots afforded to all those extra hitters. It may be the way of the future, at least given how the game is now being played in the AL, but there's just something unnatural about it. Part of being a baseball player is having to do everything there is as a baseball player: hitting, fielding, baserunning. That for the last 35 years half of the major leagues has played the game one way, while the other half has played it the other, is the only real scandal here. Crash, where have you gone, buddy?