Word: yorkerism
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...Yorker who took est a year ago got the Zen message and plunged into depression. "I was in a black hole for weeks. Nothing mattered, nothing would change." Others report increased capacity for work and euphoria ("like a drug high," said one) that gradually fades. A few say their lives are permanently changed and free of neuroses...
Even the Bronx native and lifetime New Yorker sitting next to me started rooting for the Olde Towne Team after the grounded Spaceman exited. New Yorkers, are like that, I guess, possessed with an urge to hero worship, but without the patience to develop tested team loyalty. (Another companion at the game, also a Big Apple native, confessed that his childhood adulation of the Detroit TIgers had ended completely when A1 Kaline retired...
...shattered illusion department for this week is the fact that Roger Angell, The New Yorker's fine baseball writer, is more than just a baseball writer. To me Angell, the shadow of a face hovering behind the dead gray membrane of the page, was a slightly stooped and slightly touched old gentleman carefully picking his way through the crowd--a dignified scramble over fat knees and waving programs--making his way to a lazy bleacher perch, pulling out his pencil, squinting from beneath his cap. Haunting the parks from San Diego to Fenway, living out of a duffel bag, sadly...
This may be, but if The New Yorker deigned to run a masthead once in a while I would have known that Angell is also a long-standing editor of the magazine. Reportedly, too, he is involved in speculation about who will succeed William Shawn in the hallowed post of editor. (The other major actor in this tacit drama is reportedly Jonathon Schell, the young author of the recent Nixon-years study, The Time of Illusion, a non-editor but a particular favorite of Shawn. This submerged competition seems to symbolize an identity crisis for the magazine: Angell...
Anyway, now's your chance to try figuring out what writing is all about for yourself. You could decide to trade in your New Yorker for a broadsheet. Or the part of the exhibit they call "dregs alley" might be enough to convince you to stay in the English department...