Glee

*bounce*

He's not fully himself yet, but it's him. And he's back.

Peter Gammons wasn't just at the game Saturday, but he was interviewed!

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The World Is A Better Place Today Than Yesterday

I watch a lot of sports on TV. A LOT. This means that very few personalities actually cause me to sit up and take notice, or delay turning off the TV if I am about to leave the house.

Actually, there's one. And one only. Peter Gammons.

For those who aren't sports fans, Peter Gammons changed the way baseball was covered -- from his exhaustive rolodex to his weekly notes column. Whenever he opened his mouth, he said something valuable, insightful or funny for the baseball fan.

Earlier this summer, Peter suffered a brain aneurysm. Just as the baseball season was heating up, he was in a hospital fighting for his life. In July, he left the hospital quietly and with a plea from his wife for privacy.

Most of the baseball season has gone by without him ... and the baseball season is lessened by that absence.

But today, the sun shone a bit brighter on baseball. Today, Peter Gammons visited a ballpark.

You know how life just feels better when things are in their proper place? Life feels a hell of a lot better today.

Local (58-Year-Old) Kid Makes Good

Tonight, as most sports fans already know, the Vikings and Raiders play on the first (albeit preseason) broadcast of Monday Night Football on ESPN. After decades of ABC holding the rights to (and making a mint off of) the Monday night game, it is ESPN's turn.

Yawn. Right?

It's a preseason game between two teams who didn't do all that well last year, and aren't expected to do all that well this year.

But there's another story here -- a big one ... at least to me.

Tonight, Tony Kornheiser debuts as the third man in the Monday Night Football booth.

For those who have no clue about who TK is (also known as Mr. Tony to his devoted radio listeners), he is the host of ESPN's show Pardon the Interruption. But for me, and many others in the DC area, Tony is a columnist of much biting wit, whether he is commenting on sports, or on the vagaries of life in general. C'mon, be honest, how many sportswriters/columnists can you think of that moved into doing columns for the Style section of their newspapers and were good enough to have those columns collected into books?

I can think of one: Tony Kornheiser.

As Mr. Tony has said (on other topics) numerous times, "That's it. That's the list."

So I'm rooting for him, I think.

He thinks he's going to be terrible. Others think he may be brilliant.

I'm pretty sure I want him to be brilliant.

But if he's brilliant, he'll be missing even more broadcasts of my beloved PTI and, even worse, he'll NEVER come back to his radio show here in DC.

One way or another, it should be a fun ride.

Give the Kids a Break!

I'm torn. Really, really torn.

(I have recognized, by the way, that as I get older, I am no less opinionated, but my opinion is often somewhere along the lines of "I can see both sides.")

My opinion here? I can see both sides ... really.

I recognize the drama, the pure athletic competition (minus any taint of chemical controversy), and the joy that can be found watching Little League World Series.

I get it, I really do.

While each and every one of these kids probably dreams of making the big leagues (although the litany of "what I want to be when I grow up" answers Saturday night never mentioned that option and instead brought up things like doctor, fireman, and engineer), not one of them sees the Little League World Series as a direct route to the big leagues and the millions associated with making "the show."

For those who watch young men -- down to the high school ranks -- preening and posing and sticking their hand out, not with dreams of making the pros, but expectations of doing so, the Little League World Series provides a breath of fresh air.

But ....

They're kids. Kids who don't have their hands out and aren't simply using this as a springboard to something greater. Kids have been playing in the Little League World Series for decades without television coverage ... or more recently, with only coverage of the final game. These kids wouldn't be trying any less if no cameras (other than their parents' video camera) were pointed at them.

But we now not only stick cameras in their faces, but mics on their coaches, cameras on their parents and have commentators make note of every tear and childish outburst (from children ... how horrible).

It won't surprise anyone reading this to hear that I watched a bit of the LLWS Saturday night. To set the scene fully, you should understand that this was not the final game in Williamsport, PA. In fact, the game wasn't in Williamsport at all. This was the final for the western region held about as far from Williamsport as you can get without leaving the contiguous 48 states.

After giving up the majority of the seven runs in the fifth inning, a small boy, no more than 12, was approached by a micced coach, mouthed off, then was relegated to left field ... where he proceeded to fight back tears -- all while a national cable network focused a camera on his every lip quiver and tear falling down his face and while commentators pointed out each tear and quiver in case you hadn't seen it, or weren't quite sure what you were seeing.

High drama, yes, but what is going to happen to this kid come September, when his classmates -- who, surprisingly, will not be as sympathetic and understanding as an adult -- begin bringing up this moment? Something tells me their response, for the most part, isn't going to be "tough luck, kid, you played really hard."

You even have to wonder how his parents will respond to his "don't touch me" yelled at the coach. I don't condone kids talking back to adults, but this was the highest pressure situation this kid had ever faced in his life to this point (and will likely top anything for the next five or six years at least) and such a snap isn't unexpected. His coach has probably already forgotten it. If there were no mics on the coaches, the parents wouldn't even know it happened. Now, in addition to taunts from schoolmates, he could even face censure from his own parents.

On some level, every athlete is exploited. An athlete's talent is used to make a profit for some other entity -- be it an owner, a network, or a league. Most athletes, however, get something in return: a paycheck, a college education (or, for those who really only use college athletics as a calling card for the pros, said calling card), or exposure for his/her sport (think the Olympic athletes).

These kids aren't getting a paycheck, a college education or a calling card to the pros. Their sport already has exposure at a variety of levels.

So what do they get out of it?

A measure of celebrity, sure. But do you really believe that boy in left field really wants to be known right now?

Fortunately for everyone involved, there is a middle ground. Take away the mics, or shut them off at key times (such as when a manager is talking to one of his payers who is having a bad day). Focus on the celebrations, but ignore the kids in tears.

Let the game tell the story. Let the kids jumping for joy put a period on the plotline.

Show the game. Exploit the energy and the passion these kids have, but not the kids themselves.

The genie may already be out of the bottle -- the mics and reaction shots now beloved of the sports directors and producers.

But I wonder how many sports fans would notice, or if they did, would really care if those "innovations" were abandoned?

And how many might actually cheer the change?

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Curling Redux

In my various incarnations as a blogger, I have never been linked to that I can recall -- certainly nothing other than one of my friends pointing out a post of mine in his or her blog.

But this morning, I checked out one of my favorite blogs: The Curling News Blog and read through it. I got to the "We've hooked another one" link and hit it without looking.

And it brought me here!!! (I know, multiple exclamation marks are the sure sign of a fractured mind, but still ....)

So thanks to The Curling News and welcome to anyone who might have followed the link yourself.

When Words Fail

"That's always seemed to me the worst kind of hardship: not to have words to name the world with ... to shape yourself to ...."

That wonderful quote, from Richard Greenberg's ode to baseball play Take Me Out, struck a chord with me the moment it was uttered.

How horrifying -- not to be able to describe, in detail, the experiences life has handed you, and the dreams you dream.

I've been fortunate. For most of my life, words have come easily to me. I'm not bragging. I'm not saying that the words have always been the most apt, or that the stories they tell the most scintillating. What I'm saying is that I could find words to describe life in a way that I found facile and that, from time to time, had an impact on someone else.

Last night, though, I spent nearly half an hour trying to review a movie that I was watching and enjoying. I struggled for something more witty, clever, and telling than simply, "It's much better than I thought it would be." Granted, part of my problem was avoiding saying, "It's quite good despite Billie Piper being in it," since I was writing in an area where Billie Piper fans were numerous (and where some actually know where I live).

But I sputtered. I stuttered (or the visual equivalent). I found myself without the words, and it threw me. It's a gift I've taken for granted, and I really shouldn't. It may not always be with me.
And, for the record, the first installment of BBC America's ShakespeaRe-Told (pronounced Shakespeare Retold), Much Ado About Nothing, was much better than I had expected. Yes, they modernized it completely (thereby offending my Shakespearean purist sensibilities). But they managed to stay true to the story up to all but the last five minutes. While the Shakespearean dialogue was missing, and much of the true wittiness of the banter between Benedick and Beatrice was lost, you still had that fiery charisma of the older couple, and the naive simplicity of the younger couple.

My biggest gripe is that Hero is supposed to forgive Claude (and maybe the final scene was meant to be a double wedding, but they certainly didn't make that clear). I will avoid the catty Billie Piper comment here, and simply state that, as an actress, she does the melodrama very, very well. I've seen nothing that suggests that she can do the consistent human inconsistency that marks most of humanity (and brands one a truly great actor) at all well. Hero's forgiveness falls into that second camp. So instead of forgiveness, they gave her the melodramatic scene by the ocean telling poor Claude that she can never forgive him. (Interestingly, Shakespeare's Hero -- who does nothing to earn the stamp of adulteress -- forgives the man who slandered her. In this version, Hero has done most of what he accuses her of doing, and was stupid enough to lie about it as well, but can't find it in her heart to forgive him.)

*sigh*

Well, I went from too few words, to too many. But they're back, and I'm grateful.

Slip Sliding Away

Curling.

Yeah, I got hooked badly this past February. I got hooked four years before. And now, it seems, a lot of people are getting one crucial fact: it ain't as easy as it looks.

Today's evidence: The Chicago Sports Review. Yes, another sports journalist tried curling ... and failed. But he found the bar.

One day, I will write my rapturous piece about why I adore the sport, why I spend good money to watch morning draws of events that don't matter much on CurlTV, and why I actually spent one entire afternoon listening to a curling match from a wi-fi hotspot at Panera Bread.

Today, since my time is very short, I will say this: the athletes look like real human beings and seem to honestly do it for the love of the game (they sure aren't getting rich), not one Olympic curler's name was mentioned in the context that say, a Bode Miller's was, and it's a sport that requires actual thought.

Okay, and the skintight Nike shirts worn by the US men's team during the Olympics didn't hurt. There, I said it. Happy?