Kept Promises, Coach K, and Key West
This week's posting is historic, and not because it comes one day after Unionists and Sinn Feins agreed to share power in Ireland, but rather because it is the first time since I have posted in consecutive weeks since I unveiled the blog in mid July, 2005 to much acclaim and adulation within my mind's depraved and self-obsessed world. This marks a siginificant step forward in my work ethic, although some could claim it is the day I should post under the pseudonym
La Definición de la IronÃa, considering, first off, I have nothing to write about, and second, in still taking the time to write, I am doing so in detriment to actual writing assignments I have do for school.
Nonetheless, a posting I promised for this week and a posting I am delivering. Ideally, the posts should be more substantial, filled with polished and entertaining writing. Between fraternity and ignorning school work, though, I am too busy to offer any Gonzo like rants such as last weeks. Instead, I offer a brief book review and a link to the place I want my soul ascend to, or descend to depending on your social consciousness, when studying for the Massachusetts Bar Exam in ten years kills it. Enjoy.
About a month ago I realized I had not read a good sports book since July and picked up Will Blythe's To Hate Like This Is to Be Happy Forever: A Thoroughly Obsessive, Intermittently Uplifting, and Occasionally Unbiased Account of the Duke-North Carolina Basketball Rivalry. Having put it off until I shot dead the literary corpse that was Norman Mailer's An American Dream and went off for my third shot of The Rum Diary, I am now halfway through, and can only ensure you that it deserves every bit of praise it is being given as an instant classic of sports journalis. Blythe, an ardent UNC Tar Heels fan, does a remarkable job of detailing the life of a fan whose emotional well-being is often controlled by the performance of a basketball team, the coaches who orchestrate the rivalry, and the players who pass through the rivalry as if on a conveyor belt, and without whom there would be no teams to compete. What makes the book so good, however, is Blythe's ability to relate how the rvilary can affect families and relationships, how your existence can be defined by the side you root for, and the struggle of a decidedly subjective writer to referee the battle between his inner Journalist (the impartial observer) and his inner Beast (the thoroughly obsessed fan). The book offers some surprising glimpses into the lives of the players and coaches; for instance I leave the book with much less hatred for JJ Redick and yet for less of an opinion of Roy Williams as a coach and person. Whether you enjoy basketball, studies in group behavior, the modern sports zeitgeist, or just quality sports journalism, the book is a definite must read.
Also, this resort in Key West is my newest obsession: http://www.hawkscay.com/. Granted it offers little in the way of the dirt covered streets and shots of cheap rum that inhabited Hemminway's Havana or Thompson's San Juan. In fact, it could not be further from the life I romanticize about daily, and is perhaps the exact dreadful and depressing visions Hunter S's Paul Kemp had of an Americanized San Juan (i.e., resorts, shops, no discernible appearance of local culture or history) in The Rum Diary. I don't care. Just click on the accomodations section, view the Conch or Sanctuary Villas and tell me you would not to spend the rest of your life there. The first $30,000 of disposable income I come across, obtained legally or otherwise, I am taking my family here and spending two weeks sipping glasses of Sailor Jerry's rum drowned in ice, taking the time to awaken from my rum induced slumber to witness the sunrises and sunsets, all while making sure to pour a drop out for my deceased literary homies. Amen.
What? If you are going to sell your soul, you might as well reap the sunny and palm tree related benefits.
This week's posting is historic, and not because it comes one day after Unionists and Sinn Feins agreed to share power in Ireland, but rather because it is the first time since I have posted in consecutive weeks since I unveiled the blog in mid July, 2005 to much acclaim and adulation within my mind's depraved and self-obsessed world. This marks a siginificant step forward in my work ethic, although some could claim it is the day I should post under the pseudonym
La Definición de la IronÃa, considering, first off, I have nothing to write about, and second, in still taking the time to write, I am doing so in detriment to actual writing assignments I have do for school.
Nonetheless, a posting I promised for this week and a posting I am delivering. Ideally, the posts should be more substantial, filled with polished and entertaining writing. Between fraternity and ignorning school work, though, I am too busy to offer any Gonzo like rants such as last weeks. Instead, I offer a brief book review and a link to the place I want my soul ascend to, or descend to depending on your social consciousness, when studying for the Massachusetts Bar Exam in ten years kills it. Enjoy.
About a month ago I realized I had not read a good sports book since July and picked up Will Blythe's To Hate Like This Is to Be Happy Forever: A Thoroughly Obsessive, Intermittently Uplifting, and Occasionally Unbiased Account of the Duke-North Carolina Basketball Rivalry. Having put it off until I shot dead the literary corpse that was Norman Mailer's An American Dream and went off for my third shot of The Rum Diary, I am now halfway through, and can only ensure you that it deserves every bit of praise it is being given as an instant classic of sports journalis. Blythe, an ardent UNC Tar Heels fan, does a remarkable job of detailing the life of a fan whose emotional well-being is often controlled by the performance of a basketball team, the coaches who orchestrate the rivalry, and the players who pass through the rivalry as if on a conveyor belt, and without whom there would be no teams to compete. What makes the book so good, however, is Blythe's ability to relate how the rvilary can affect families and relationships, how your existence can be defined by the side you root for, and the struggle of a decidedly subjective writer to referee the battle between his inner Journalist (the impartial observer) and his inner Beast (the thoroughly obsessed fan). The book offers some surprising glimpses into the lives of the players and coaches; for instance I leave the book with much less hatred for JJ Redick and yet for less of an opinion of Roy Williams as a coach and person. Whether you enjoy basketball, studies in group behavior, the modern sports zeitgeist, or just quality sports journalism, the book is a definite must read.
Also, this resort in Key West is my newest obsession: http://www.hawkscay.com/. Granted it offers little in the way of the dirt covered streets and shots of cheap rum that inhabited Hemminway's Havana or Thompson's San Juan. In fact, it could not be further from the life I romanticize about daily, and is perhaps the exact dreadful and depressing visions Hunter S's Paul Kemp had of an Americanized San Juan (i.e., resorts, shops, no discernible appearance of local culture or history) in The Rum Diary. I don't care. Just click on the accomodations section, view the Conch or Sanctuary Villas and tell me you would not to spend the rest of your life there. The first $30,000 of disposable income I come across, obtained legally or otherwise, I am taking my family here and spending two weeks sipping glasses of Sailor Jerry's rum drowned in ice, taking the time to awaken from my rum induced slumber to witness the sunrises and sunsets, all while making sure to pour a drop out for my deceased literary homies. Amen.
What? If you are going to sell your soul, you might as well reap the sunny and palm tree related benefits.
posted by Andrew Felper | 3:32 PM
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