“In the air there is the thick and potent feeling of being at the junction of one of the large hunks that history is wont to divide itself into. Like a demented trap door the floor opens up and the serfs and slaves of the world scramble at the hinge, tiding their cascading unease with bread and games.”
It’s 1937, and floodlights are being installed at Minneapolis’ Nicollet Park. The Millers’ second baseman, Zalman Axelrod, is thinking about progress, St Paul Saints shortstop Clem Hazeldine, and the cover of darkness.
i still maintain that joe mauer and justin morneau are the baseball boybestfriends most deserving of winning the world series together, and the fact that neither of them did is genuinely proof that there is no god
i still maintain that joe mauer and justin morneau are the baseball boybestfriends most deserving of winning the world series together, and the fact that neither of them did is genuinely proof that there is no god
i think that people should start using “in poor taste” as a descriptor again given it is often the most applicable and clearest phrase when discoursing about media and analysis; sometimes a piece of art isn’t actually THE most problematic thing of all time is is. just in poor taste (not JUST in poor taste as a reductive take on potential harm but/and as in regardless of intent the impact is this was an offensive or stupid take/choice)
“Every sound startles Lee these days, cars backfiring, postgame fireworks, mopeds blaring by. Sometimes the crack of his bat on the ball sounds like an artillery round — sometimes he loses it rounding the bases.”
Lee Podhalanski’s life is turned upside down when the 1969 Vietnam draft snatches him away from his major league dreams. Two years later, back from the war and playing in Asheville, NC, he meets a young ticket clerk with strong opinions.
