By Robert Lipsyte
An established activities columnist for the recent York occasions interweaves tales from his existence and the occasions he coated to discover the relationships among the video games we play and the lives we lead turning out to be up, Robert Lipsyte used to be the smart-aleck fats child, the bully magnet who went to the library rather than the ballpark. because the perpetual outsider, even into maturity, Lipsyte's alienation from Jock tradition made him a rarity within the press field: the sportswriter who wasn't a activities fan. this sense of otherness has coloured Lipsyte's activities writing for 50 years, a lot of it spent as a columnist for the recent York instances. He did not stick with specific athletes or groups; he wasn't awed by means of the entry afforded by means of his press cross or his familiarity with the avid gamers within the locker room. among bouts on the occasions, he introduced a winning occupation writing younger grownup fiction, usually approximately activities. The adventure and perception he earned over a part century infuse An unintended Sportswriter. Going past the standard memoir, Lipsyte has written "a reminiscence loop, a round look for misplaced or forgotten items within the puzzle of a life." In telling his personal tale, he grapples with American activities and society—from Mickey Mantle to invoice Simmons—arguing that Jock tradition has seeped into our enterprise, politics, and relatives lifestyles, and its definitions became the traditional to degree price. filled with knowledge and an knowing of yankee activities that contextualizes instead of celebrates athletes, An unintended Sportswriter is the crowning success of a wealthy occupation and a publication that may converse to us for future years.
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Additional resources for An Accidental Sportswriter
I came to despise the common practice, in the great sports editor Stanley Woodward’s term, of “godding up” the ballplayers. Some in friendly fashion (Bob Costas, Dick Schaap), some not, wondered why I couldn’t kick back and enjoy the games. Why couldn’t I appreciate the joy? Why couldn’t I accept these accomplished men and women in sports as my heroes? Why did my work have to be so relentlessly political? (At first, perhaps defensively, I would try to trace that question back to the discussions about social justice at my parents’ dinner table.
I was thrilled with the assignment, the kind that Talese would have gotten had he still been in the sports department. (Actually, two years earlier, almost to the day, Gay had gotten that same assignment. He’d been sent to the Stadium for Mantle’s reaction to the fans who had been heckling him. They booed from the stands and squirted ink on his clothes if he didn’t stop to sign autographs. Talese described Mantle as “smoldering” when asked if he minded the abuse. ”) Mickey and Yogi Berra were playing catch in front of the dugout when I politely introduced myself before the game.
Why did my work have to be so relentlessly political? (At first, perhaps defensively, I would try to trace that question back to the discussions about social justice at my parents’ dinner table. ) The question begs, Bobby: What held you in sports for so long, and what kept bringing you back? For starters, I fell in love—with the paper. , when the giant presses in the subbasement roared to life with the first edition. More than fifty years later, the hot-type presses long scrapped, the paper now housed in a glass skyscraper a few blocks south of the Disneyfied Times Square, I can feel the old building shuddering in its nightly rebirth.