By Emma Span
Yogi Berra as soon as acknowledged: “If you return to a fork within the highway, take it.” yet for lifelong baseball aficionado Emma Span, it hasn’t consistently been that easy. Now, during this successful choice of essays, Span chronicles her love of the game, from early life pastime to full-blown obsession, from enormous holiday (becoming The Village Voice’s first employees activities reporter in years) to heartbreak (getting a purple slip inside a year). She recounts elbowing her method to get a quote from Yankees captain Derek Jeter and watching for Mets pitcher Pedro Martinez to place a few pants on for an interview. She actually supplies her lifeblood to work out the Mets and hops a aircraft to Taiwan, domestic to probably the most important focus of Yankees enthusiasts outdoors of the 5 boroughs. yet once you have laid off and being compelled to go away her press go in the back of, Span wonders if her ardour for the game will fade. hugely not going. Baseball helped Span forge an enduring bond together with her father, hook up with overall strangers, and undergo even the hardest occasions. With a clean voice, a devastating wit, and an alarmingly encyclopedic wisdom of the game, Span bargains a brand new standpoint on America’s favourite pasttime—as a journalist, a baseball nerd, a daughter, and a fervent stay-until-the-last-out fan.
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Additional info for 90% of the Game Is Half Mental. And Other Tales From the Edge of Baseball Fandom
Sports have a way of making you feel like fate’s plaything—not to mention making you throw words like fate around in the first place. ) And maybe that’s a bad idea, but on the other hand, life is short. ” He doesn’t do it deliberately—often he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it at all. He’s constantly molding events into a more compelling narrative even as they’re happening, and as time goes on he becomes so convinced that it happened the way he thinks it did, the way it should have, that he could pass a polygraph with ease.
My mother, for her part, tolerated our baseball habit but was more or less uninterested herself. She’s eminently practical and sensible, my mom—I inherited many traits from her, but not those, unfortunately—and true sports fans only rarely display those qualities. There’s not an obvious practical or sensible reason, after all, to devote hours every day, and maybe hundreds of dollars or more a year, to demonstrate your commitment to a sports team whose success or failure will have no measurable impact on your life.
I worked one more weekend as a valet, at an upscale wedding for perhaps two hundred guests at a deeply pretentious country club; here there were six parkers, most of whom could drive a stick and, Ferris Bueller-style, took advantage of this skill by taking the guests’ Mercedes and Ferraris out for spins during the ceremony. These guys were pros and weren’t inclined to let the new girl take too many cars and tips away (no matter how much she knew about the Yankees), so I only took home $20 that night.