Have one to sell?
Add to book club
Loading your book clubs
There was a problem loading your book clubs. Please try again.
Not in a club? Learn more
Join or create book clubs
Choose books together
Track your books
Bring your club to Amazon Book Clubs, start a new book club and invite your friends to join, or find a club that’s right for you for free.
Download the free Kindle app and start reading Kindle books instantly on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required. Learn more
Read instantly on your browser with Kindle for Web.
Using your mobile phone camera - scan the code below and download the Kindle app.
Flip to back Flip to front
The Best American Sports Writing 2002 Hardcover – October 15, 2002
by
Rick Reilly
(Editor)
No reviews
A premier anthology of the outstanding sports writing published during 2001 features the contributions of distinguished sportswriters and journalists, selected by the acclaimed author of The Life of Reilly, dealing with everything from surfing and golf to baseball and bodybuilding.
- Print length320 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherHoughton Mifflin Harcourt
- Publication dateOctober 15, 2002
- Dimensions5.75 x 1.25 x 8.5 inches
- ISBN-100618086277
- ISBN-13978-0618086276
Popular titles by this author
Page 1 of 1 Start overPage 1 of 1
Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Reilly (Life of Reilly) gathers 28 cracking pieces on sport-and not just the usual suspects. The stunning "Near Death in the Afternoon," by Elizabeth Gilbert is the story of El Juli, a young and arrogant bull fighter who is gored in Madrid. Equally fringe and more disturbing is Bob Norman's "Backyard Bloodbath," which documents EFW ("Extreme Fuckin' Wrestling"), particularly two brothers who put on shows with tacks on the mat, barbed-wire-wrapped baseball bats, garbage cans and staple guns. It's bloody, raw, dangerous, utterly engrossing and revolting. Sports columnist Bill Plaschke's "Her Blue Heaven" is a moving story about being at odds with one of his critics, a 30-year-old-woman with cerebral palsy who lives in a shack in Texas and maintains her own Dodgers Web site. Equally poignant is Mark Kram Jr.'s "Joe's Gift," about Kansas City Chiefs running back Joe Delaney, who lost his life when he pulled a drowning boy from a pond. The book can be bleak, but Steve Ruskin's "Cold Comfort," a meditation on childhood, snow and sport, is a welcome relief from this motif-one that's sure to stir childhood memories in all readers. Peter Richmond's "Flesh and Blood" covers the mysteries and trial of Rae Carruth and the women who loved him, even though he set out to have them killed. Richmond goes on to blame this on the violent nature of sport, particularly football. At their best, these essays go beyond sport and into social commentary; these aren't pleas to change the world but acknowledgment of what draws one to sport in the first place: passion.
Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Copyright 2002 Reed Business Information, Inc.
From Booklist
Many fans believe that great sports writing--think Red Smith or Shirley Povich--has gone the way of afternoon newspapers and $3 bleacher seats. They are wrong, as this wonderful annual collection has been proving every year since 1991. The selections are culled from thousands of stories originally published in such disparate sources as Texas Monthly, ESPN.com, and GQ. The topics are also varied, though sadly, many of this year's batch deal with death in one form or another. Gene Wojciechowski contributes a moving eulogy for former basketball coach and bon vivant Al McGuire; Skip Hollandsworth's compelling article from Texas Monthly examines the murder of racehorse Alydar in 1990; and Peter Richmond offers trenchant commentary on the murder trial of football star Rae Carruth. Another highlight is Steve Friedman's disturbing account of the Hardrock Hundred Endurance Run in which participants must traverse 100 wilderness miles in 48 hours. Most don't finish. Among the other notable contributors are Rick Telander, Mike Lupica, and Frank Deford. A great tradition continues with another outstanding collection. Wes Lukowsky
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
About the Author
Glenn Stout has been the series editor of The Best American Sports Writing since its inception and has written three illustrated biographies with Richard A. Johnson: Ted Williams: A Portrait in Words and Pictures, Joe DiMaggio: An Illustrated Life, and Jackie Robinson: Between the Baselines. He is a columnist for Boston Baseball, and his work has appeared in many regional and national magazines and newspapers. He lives in Uxbridge, Massachusetts.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Foreword
The readers of this book are a unique constituency. For many, I suspect that
The Best American Sports Writing makes a more or less regular appearance
in their hands sometime between Labor Day and Christmas. It is something
of a no-brainer for certain fans of sports and writing, an instant gift happily
received. The annual migration of this book from bookstore to bookshelf can
be calculated almost to the day, as if inspired by discreet and distant urgings
buried deep in the DNA, a kind of seasonal response to diminishing light.
This kind of anticipation, like waiting for the first good snow,
creates an exacting level of expectation in many readers. Over time they
have developed a great sense of ownership over the final product, as well they
should. After all, books cease to belong to the author — or in this case, the
editors — as soon as readers turn to the first page. Their experience is all
that matters, and when they start reading, the book becomes more theirs
than its creators".
Many writers, particularly those in daily journalism, know exactly
what I mean. The Los Angeles Times"s Bill Plaschke, whose story "Her Blue
Haven" leads off this collection, makes use of a similar situation as the basis
for his story; regular readers of our work feel they have a stake in each and
every word. They take us seriously, even when we don"t always take
ourselves that way.
That doesn"t mean that the readers of the books in this series are
so slavishly devoted that they are above criticism. Quite the opposite. The
readers of this series who contact me are rarely shy about expressing
themselves. My name on the book jacket gives them that right. Over the
years they have made it clear to me that although they enjoy the fluctuations
of the menu each year, at the end of the meal they want to feel satisfyingly
full. A book like this requires the investment of several hours of readers" time,
and it is their right to feel they have used that time well.
Fortunately, most do, at least among those who contact me. Of
those who do complain, most are concerned with a kind of scorekeeping, as
in, "There were too many newspaper stories," or not enough newspaper
stories, or too much football, or not enough hockey. Or too many famous
writers, columns, men, women, curse words, adjectives, consonants, etc.,
etc., etc. — or not enough of those same items. One reader even calculated
the annual cost per page of his purchase since the beginning of the series.
For the record, we are holding our own against inflation.
I tend to measure how well I do my job by the way these
complaints inevitably even out over the year. Most couch their criticism
between compliments anyway, and when readers argue from the opposite
sides of the same fence, I figure I must be doing something right.
Each year I invite readers to take part in this series, to send me
stories they think might merit inclusion in the book. And they do, often with
an eye at least as accurate and discerning as my own. For some reason,
authors remain somewhat reticent about submitting their own material, and
despite my repeated efforts, some editors I contact each year asking for
submissions, particularly in the newspaper field, don"t always do so.
Fortunately, the readers take up the slack. Several sent me
Plaschke"s story, and there is at least one other story that made its way into
this volume that I would not have seen had a reader not clipped it, stuck it in
an envelope, and sent it off to me. So keep it up.
In addition to those complaints and suggestions, a few missives
stand out each year for one reason or another. One reader writes me each
and every year asking when the book will be published and where he can find
it. And every year I write back and say, "September," and, "Your local
bookstore." I assume he is successful. He never asks where to find last
year"s edition.
Last September 17 I received an e-mail from a reader in New York
City. In that strange time, in the wake of the 9/11 carnage, I think many of us
everywhere found it difficult to focus and concentrate, particularly on
something made so instantly trivial as sports. I felt this myself, for I was
working on another project and was forced to write or consider the
words "New York" over and over again. For weeks the name of that city felt
and sounded different, as if heard for the first time and describing a brand-
new place, and each time it caused a momentary and uncomfortable pause
from which there seemed no escape. At the same time I was rapidly
inundated by sports reportage from all over the country that touched on the
horror of that day and found myself lost in the mind-numbing litany of tragedy
piled upon tragedy. While I was fortunate in that everyone I loved and cared
about in the city survived, still, the buildings had fallen and their shadows
never seemed to lift.
And then I received this:
. . . As I struggled to cope with what was going on around me, I kept looking
for a way to "take a break" — living in NYC has made it very difficult to do
this — everything from the smoke in your hair to the constant wail of sirens,
to the naked skyline is an ever-present reminder. I tried to read, watch
movies, talk with friends about other stuff, but nothing worked. . . . I sat
around unable to think or feel. And then on Wednesday afternoon I shuffled
over to my bookshelf, one last attempt to find some satisfying distraction. As
I scanned the shelves a large black and gold volume popped out at me —
The Best American Sports Writing of the Century . . . the subject matter
interesting but removed from reality, the quality of writing poignant but not too
deep. . . . I found some solace in the stories, in the words. . . .
And so did I, in his. I don"t repeat this story because it was sent
to me, but because I believe it was directed to the writers of each and every
volume in this series. It is easy for the authors who commit themselves to
these and other pages each day and year of their lives to grow cynical, to feel
that too many words fall still and silent and stupid, unheard, immaterial, and
insignificant. We work, after all, in what others occasionally deride as "the
toy department." But I think that this e-mail provides the best and only
justification for what any of us do. Words can win awards and sometimes
inspire change, they can cause us to laugh and cry or to fall asleep or turn
the page. But they can also matter and mean more, perhaps briefly, in the
hands of those we serve. None of us can tell precisely why or when that will
be, apart from those brief moments when the reader tells us. And as any
writer can tell you, perhaps the most important part of what we do is learning
to listen well. So to the readers of this book, and the writers who are
responsible for it each year, thank you.
My task each year is simple. I read as much as possible in hundreds of
sports and general interest publications in search of work that I feel might
merit inclusion in this book. I try to avoid missing anything, so each year I
contact the editors and sports editors of hundreds of magazines, asking for
either submissions or complimentary subscriptions. I also contact sports
editors of a like number of newspapers and ask them to submit material.
But as I indicated earlier, I also welcome submissions from
interested readers and writers. And writers, hear this: you are more than
welcome to submit your own material. My only concern is for the final
product. I don"t much care how material comes to me, only that I see it in the
first place.
Just after the first of the year I forward those stories that I find
myself wanting to read again and again — usually about seventy-five — to
our guest editor, who makes the final selection. That task fell this year to the
estimable Rick Reilly, who supplemented my picks with some of his own.
As you read this, I am several knees deep in stories under
consideration for The Best American Sports Writing 2003 and always
welcome more. Each nonfiction story must have been published in 2002 in a
newspaper, magazine, or online publication in either the United States or
Canada, and it must be column-length or longer. Reprints are not eligible. All
submissions must be received by me by February 1, 2003.
All submissions must include the name of the author, the date of
publication, and the publication name and address. Photocopies, tear
sheets, or clean copies are fine — reductions to 8½-by-11 are best.
Newspaper stories should be mounted on paper, if possible, since loose clips
stuffed in envelopes often suffer in transit. Owing to the volume of material I
receive, no submissions will be either returned or acknowledged. Neither is it
appropriate for me to make any comments about any individual submission.
Publications that want to make absolutely certain that I see their
material are advised to send a complimentary subscription to the following
address. This is not, and never has been, a requirement, but with a
subscription I can survey material over the course of the year rather than in a
deluge each January.
Submissions and subscriptions should be sent to this precise
address:
Glenn Stout
Series Editor
The Best American Sports Writing
PO Box 381
Uxbridge, MA 01569
I may also be contacted by e-mail at BASWeditor@cs.com, but please note
that no submissions will be accepted electronically, either pasted in or as an
attachment.
Earlier editions of this book can be ordered through most book
dealers or online sources. An index of stories through the year 2000 is
available on glennstout.net. Thanks again to Eamon Dolan and Emily Little of
Houghton Mifflin for their trust and help each year, and to Rick Reilly for his
active involvement. Siobhan and Saorla again managed to hold their own
against the endless onslaught of paper. Readers Scott Chait and Ed Page,
among others, made significant contributions to this volume as well. And
thanks again to the writers for allowing me to shape their book.
Glenn Stout
Introduction
The only job I"ve been able to hold on to is sports writing. I"ve flopped at
everything else. I"ve been fired more than ceramic pottery and Billy Martin put
together.
I was fired from my first job at fourteen. Lady didn"t like the way I
chewed my gum. Got fired from a rental-equipment place at sixteen. Thought
the boss said, "Fill these jackhammers with fifteen parts oil, one part gas,"
but it turns out it was the other way around. Got fired from a gas station at
eighteen. Left a guy"s oil cap off and it fell down into his fan belt and the
station had to pay $435 to fix it for him. Got fired as a bank teller at nineteen.
Lost $500 one day. Still don"t know where it went.
But knock on wood, sports writing hasn"t 86"ed me yet. Started
doing it for a living at twenty. That"s twenty-five years ago now. If there is ever
a nuclear winter and sports writing is no longer needed, I"m toast.
I"m not saying I"m good, but I think I know what good is. Good is
the stuff we"ve chosen for this book. Good is not easy. College kids write me
all the time asking how to make their writing better. I always hate answering
that letter. You send them tips and you come off like a know-it-all. You ignore
it and you come off like a jerk.
But editing this book has made me think about it. Two chewed
chair legs and three pots of coffee later, I finally came up with ten simple
strategies that I know will work no matter the subject, length, or deadline.
And so, I present now, for your shredding pleasure . . . the Reilly Rules.
1. Never Write a Sentence You"ve Already Read.
That was said by Oscar Wilde, but it"s still the best way to make words jump
off the page and squirt grapefruit juice in the reader"s face. Why write: "He
beat the crap out of the guy" when it"s so much more fun to write: "He turned
the guy into six feet of lumps"?
You ever notice the way cops talk on the eleven o"clock news? On
TV, the cop will go all Dragnet on you: "We apprehended the alleged suspect
after a prolonged pursuit." But then you hear the same cop down at Dunkin"
Donuts and he"s going, "Man, we chased this fruitcake everywhere! Guy
thought he was Secretariat!"
The best writing sounds like that. It sounds like a guy talking to
you over a fence. The Los Angeles Times"s Jim Murray, the greatest
sportswriter who ever lived, wrote like that. Murray put simple words in an
order nobody had seen before.
Murray once wrote in the Los Angeles Times that John Wooden
was "as square as a pan of cornbread." Boog Powell was "just slightly larger
than the Istanbul Hilton." USC"s sweep left was "as unstoppable as a
woman"s tears." And, "Willie Mays" glove is the place where triples go to die."
Steve Rushin of Sports Illustrated writes like that. He would sell
his sister to the Iraqis before he"d write a boring sentence. In his piece "Cold
Comfort," he describes what it felt like the moment the radio told him his
elementary school was closed on account of too much snow.
"Instantly, it"s Mardi Gras and V-E Day and the Lindbergh parade
all in one, and the flakes falling outside look like ticker tape."
Guy makes me sprain my grin.
Blackie Sherrod of the Dallas Morning News once described rogue
quarterback Bobby Layne"s arrest for drunk driving this way:
"Layne . . . stopped off to indulge in some heavy research with
scholarly friends. Late that evening, Bobby was driving to his hotel,
innocently enough, when he was sideswiped by several empty cars lurking at
curbside."
Ever read that before?
2. Get "Em in the Tent.
Murray used to say, "They"ll never see the circus if you can"t get "em in the
tent." Translated: Without a good lead, they"ll never appreciate your death-
defying twinkle-toe transition in the third paragraph. Maybe that"s why he
once led off a column on the safety hazards at the Indianapolis 500
with: "Gentlemen, start your coffins!"
Have you ever been zapping around on the remote, going from one
show to the next? And then something comes on that you just can"t zap
because you have to know what"s going to happen next? That"s what a great
lead does. In this fragmented world, readers are looking for the tiniest excuse
to turn the page, put you down, and get out of their chair. There"s no city
ordinance that says they have to read you.
So you have to make it impossible for them not to go on to the
second graph. Take, for instance, Tom Scocca"s boxing lead from "Blood
Sport."
"Idly, last week, I watched Beethavean Scottland get beaten into a
coma."
Or Outside"s Steve Friedman"s lead from ""It"s Gonna Suck to Be
You"":
"The first time he tried it, the vomiting started after sixty-seven
miles. . . ."
How are you not going to keep reading?
3. Say What You Think.
Wholesale tin-eared butchery sports writing goes like this:
"Monolith Tech and Conglomerate University waged a real war on
Saturday.
""That was a real war out there," said Monolith head coach Bruiser
Smith."
Bad sportswriters have this thing about pens and pads. They have
to use them — to exhaustion. So if they take the time to talk to a coach or a
player or a fan, then they"re damn sure going to use it. But do you realize
that some of the greatest sportswriters in history — Damon Runyon, Ring
Lardner, Grantland Rice — quoted almost nobody? They said what they felt,
knowing they could say it better, funnier, and pithier than any lummox in
shoulder pads.
What good is it to quote five people saying Bubba is fast when
you can say it by yourself with just, "Bubba is faster than rent money"?
Check out the way Dan Neil sums up a night of demolition derby
in his hilarious "Big Night in Bithlo" from Car and Driver:
"As the last toxic fumes from the jet-car bus burning waft over the
crowd, the armadillos poke their heads out from their burrows, and the crowd
heads toward their pickup trucks, this edition of Crash-O-Rama seems an
unqualified success, and by that I mean a complete disaster."
Not a quote in sight.
4. It Sucks Before You Start.
You wrote a piece that sucked. The reason it sucked is not the way you
wrote it. It"s that when you finally sat down to write it, you didn"t have any
good stuff. Unless you"re Dave Barry or Dan Jenkins or David Copperfield,
you"re not going to make Pulitzers out of puke.
Sports Illustrated"s Gary Smith, the I. M. Pei of profilers, has a
rule. He"s not done researching a subject until he"s interviewed at least fifty
people. That"s why he only does four a year. And that"s also why those four
are often the most unforgettable of the year. They are meticulous in their
depth of reporting, nearly preposterous. And yet he throws around quotes the
way Don Rickles threw around compliments. He prods and searches and
hunts until he knows a story so well he can tell it himself, in his own crisp,
penetrating prose.
It"s not a hunt for detail. It"s the hunt for the right detail. The
Philadelphia Daily News"s Mark Kram, Jr., in his "Joe"s Gift," describes how a
boy put up a wall between himself and his grief at the drowning death of his
older brother, Harry:
"He began to systematically erase Harry from the premises: he
sold his bicycle, gave away his books, beanbag chair, and other belongings,
and set fire to his clothes."
That is great reporting. You come up with stuff like that, you can"t
help but write well.
(One other thing. The Washington Post"s Michael Leahy, who was
given the Michael Jordan beat in 2001, is known as a very accurate reporter.
In "Transition Game" he describes a scene in the locker room just before
Jordan"s first comeback game in a Washington Wizard uniform:
"Another writer, who had predicted his comeback amid much
disdain, sidled up, patted his arm, and said, "I didn"t get any apology letters.""
""Don"t expect any either," Jordan said, unwilling to give this man a
morsel tonight either. "You ought to know that.""
know that"s accurate. I was the writer he was writing about.)
5. The Interview Never Ends.
This is just a quickie, but so many writers shut down their ears when the
formal interview ends. Don"t. Keep your eyes and ears open and the invisible
ink flowing even after the subject shakes your hand and says goodbye.
Follow him out. Watch him drive off. You never know what might happen.
hen I was covering golf for Sports Illustrated, I invented "trunking,"
which means following the winner from the eighteenth green, through his
press conference, through his winner"s dinner, through whatever happens, out
to the parking lot, until he puts his clubs in the trunk, slams it, and tells you
to get lost. I got more good stuff doing that, and SI golf reporters still do it. In
fact, that"s how SI managed to quote Vijay Singh winning the 2000 Masters,
going out to the parking lot, slamming the trunk, and declaring: "This place
can kiss my black ass!"
6. Forget Cereal Boxes.
We all get in ruts, where we believe the only sports worth writing about are
the big four: baseball, football, basketball, and hockey — the basic stuff that
shows up on the Wheaties box.
But more often than not, the best dramas, funniest scenes, most
interesting characters, are places where we forget to go. One look through
this book will tell you that. There"s a compelling story about bullfighting, a
fascinating profile of a blind mountain climber, and an eye-gouging look at
backyard wrestling.
Sometimes you might even find a great sports writing story when
you look at . . . sports writing. Or haven"t you read Los Angeles Times
columnist Bill Plaschke"s "Her Blue Haven"?
7. Death to Overwriting!
The quickest freeway to Bushdom, Hackville, Crap City, is to overwrite. Don"t.
Just . . . don"t.
When President Kennedy died, Jimmy Breslin interviewed the
gravedigger. That"s underwriting. That"s poignancy. That says more than a
thousand overwrought paragraphs about "the nation"s heavy-hearted grief."
When Frank Deford came to the key moment in his classic profile of "The
Toughest Coach Who Ever Lived" back in the 1980s, he did it like a knife
going through left-out margarine:
"[Coach] chatted with [his daughter] and told her how much he
missed and loved her, and then he handed the phone to Virginia and went to
finish dressing for the Lions Club meeting. In the bathroom, Bull Cyclone had
just slapped some cologne on his face when he dropped dead without a
sound."
You can"t be graver than death, louder than bombs, more Catholic
than the pope. So don"t try. Go the other way.
8. Adjectives and Adverbs Sorta Suck, Really.
If I can avoid using an adjective, I will. If I can avoid writing, "He was a lucky
sort of guy," and write instead, "He was the kind of guy who could drop a
quarter in a pay phone and have it pay 20 to 1," then I"ve not only made it fun
for me and the guy in the Barcalounger in Peoria, but I stand a good chance
of not being fired for the week.
When ESPN Magazine"s Gene Wojciechowski, as pure a writer
as is working today, wants to show that the late Al McGuire was "trusting,"
he notes that McGuire would throw his car keys on the seat of his unlocked
car. When he wants to show he was "quirky," he remembers how McGuire
would shop in the oddest places for tin toy soldiers. For "rebellious" he
quotes McGuire himself, saying, "I only comb my hair if there are four people
in the room, and if there are four people, I"m getting paid." But not once does
Wojciechowski write, "Al McGuire was a trusting, quirky, rebellious sort of a
guy." And aren"t you glad?
And don"t even talk to me about adverbs. I hate adverbs. I would
rather be coated in chicken drippings and dropped in a leopard den than use
adverbs. If you can"t find a better way to say "hungrily" or "proudly," you need
to find a new line of work, preferably nowhere near words.
9. Look Around, Stupid.
Not to be insulting, but sometimes the best stuff is right in front of us. The
only trick is seeing it. When Orlando Sentinel columnist Mike Bianchi
attended Dale Earnhart"s funeral, he did something odd. He didn"t write about
Earnhart. Or Earnhart"s family. Or Earnhart"s legacy. He wrote about the
other drivers sitting in the church that day, staring into a box they knew could
contain them next week.
One time the writer John McNulty was profiling sensational Triple
Crown winner Native Dancer, owned by the glamorous Vanderbilts. And
McNulty pulled off one of the most delicious Look Arounds I"ve ever read. In
fact, he closed his piece with it:
"As Native Dancer passed each stall where a Vanderbilt horse
was being groomed, work stopped for a few moments. "There he go," one
groom said, pausing to work on his horse, and it was nice to hear him
say, "You a good horse, too.""
10. Ignore All Rules.
After all, you probably have real talent and will end up making Hemingway
look like a guy who writes owner"s manuals for Japanese televisions and will
show up someday and take my job.
And I refuse to go back to the jackhammer refueling industry.
Rick Reilly
Copyright © 2002 by Houghton Mifflin Company
Introduction copyright © 2002 by Rick Reilly
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
The readers of this book are a unique constituency. For many, I suspect that
The Best American Sports Writing makes a more or less regular appearance
in their hands sometime between Labor Day and Christmas. It is something
of a no-brainer for certain fans of sports and writing, an instant gift happily
received. The annual migration of this book from bookstore to bookshelf can
be calculated almost to the day, as if inspired by discreet and distant urgings
buried deep in the DNA, a kind of seasonal response to diminishing light.
This kind of anticipation, like waiting for the first good snow,
creates an exacting level of expectation in many readers. Over time they
have developed a great sense of ownership over the final product, as well they
should. After all, books cease to belong to the author — or in this case, the
editors — as soon as readers turn to the first page. Their experience is all
that matters, and when they start reading, the book becomes more theirs
than its creators".
Many writers, particularly those in daily journalism, know exactly
what I mean. The Los Angeles Times"s Bill Plaschke, whose story "Her Blue
Haven" leads off this collection, makes use of a similar situation as the basis
for his story; regular readers of our work feel they have a stake in each and
every word. They take us seriously, even when we don"t always take
ourselves that way.
That doesn"t mean that the readers of the books in this series are
so slavishly devoted that they are above criticism. Quite the opposite. The
readers of this series who contact me are rarely shy about expressing
themselves. My name on the book jacket gives them that right. Over the
years they have made it clear to me that although they enjoy the fluctuations
of the menu each year, at the end of the meal they want to feel satisfyingly
full. A book like this requires the investment of several hours of readers" time,
and it is their right to feel they have used that time well.
Fortunately, most do, at least among those who contact me. Of
those who do complain, most are concerned with a kind of scorekeeping, as
in, "There were too many newspaper stories," or not enough newspaper
stories, or too much football, or not enough hockey. Or too many famous
writers, columns, men, women, curse words, adjectives, consonants, etc.,
etc., etc. — or not enough of those same items. One reader even calculated
the annual cost per page of his purchase since the beginning of the series.
For the record, we are holding our own against inflation.
I tend to measure how well I do my job by the way these
complaints inevitably even out over the year. Most couch their criticism
between compliments anyway, and when readers argue from the opposite
sides of the same fence, I figure I must be doing something right.
Each year I invite readers to take part in this series, to send me
stories they think might merit inclusion in the book. And they do, often with
an eye at least as accurate and discerning as my own. For some reason,
authors remain somewhat reticent about submitting their own material, and
despite my repeated efforts, some editors I contact each year asking for
submissions, particularly in the newspaper field, don"t always do so.
Fortunately, the readers take up the slack. Several sent me
Plaschke"s story, and there is at least one other story that made its way into
this volume that I would not have seen had a reader not clipped it, stuck it in
an envelope, and sent it off to me. So keep it up.
In addition to those complaints and suggestions, a few missives
stand out each year for one reason or another. One reader writes me each
and every year asking when the book will be published and where he can find
it. And every year I write back and say, "September," and, "Your local
bookstore." I assume he is successful. He never asks where to find last
year"s edition.
Last September 17 I received an e-mail from a reader in New York
City. In that strange time, in the wake of the 9/11 carnage, I think many of us
everywhere found it difficult to focus and concentrate, particularly on
something made so instantly trivial as sports. I felt this myself, for I was
working on another project and was forced to write or consider the
words "New York" over and over again. For weeks the name of that city felt
and sounded different, as if heard for the first time and describing a brand-
new place, and each time it caused a momentary and uncomfortable pause
from which there seemed no escape. At the same time I was rapidly
inundated by sports reportage from all over the country that touched on the
horror of that day and found myself lost in the mind-numbing litany of tragedy
piled upon tragedy. While I was fortunate in that everyone I loved and cared
about in the city survived, still, the buildings had fallen and their shadows
never seemed to lift.
And then I received this:
. . . As I struggled to cope with what was going on around me, I kept looking
for a way to "take a break" — living in NYC has made it very difficult to do
this — everything from the smoke in your hair to the constant wail of sirens,
to the naked skyline is an ever-present reminder. I tried to read, watch
movies, talk with friends about other stuff, but nothing worked. . . . I sat
around unable to think or feel. And then on Wednesday afternoon I shuffled
over to my bookshelf, one last attempt to find some satisfying distraction. As
I scanned the shelves a large black and gold volume popped out at me —
The Best American Sports Writing of the Century . . . the subject matter
interesting but removed from reality, the quality of writing poignant but not too
deep. . . . I found some solace in the stories, in the words. . . .
And so did I, in his. I don"t repeat this story because it was sent
to me, but because I believe it was directed to the writers of each and every
volume in this series. It is easy for the authors who commit themselves to
these and other pages each day and year of their lives to grow cynical, to feel
that too many words fall still and silent and stupid, unheard, immaterial, and
insignificant. We work, after all, in what others occasionally deride as "the
toy department." But I think that this e-mail provides the best and only
justification for what any of us do. Words can win awards and sometimes
inspire change, they can cause us to laugh and cry or to fall asleep or turn
the page. But they can also matter and mean more, perhaps briefly, in the
hands of those we serve. None of us can tell precisely why or when that will
be, apart from those brief moments when the reader tells us. And as any
writer can tell you, perhaps the most important part of what we do is learning
to listen well. So to the readers of this book, and the writers who are
responsible for it each year, thank you.
My task each year is simple. I read as much as possible in hundreds of
sports and general interest publications in search of work that I feel might
merit inclusion in this book. I try to avoid missing anything, so each year I
contact the editors and sports editors of hundreds of magazines, asking for
either submissions or complimentary subscriptions. I also contact sports
editors of a like number of newspapers and ask them to submit material.
But as I indicated earlier, I also welcome submissions from
interested readers and writers. And writers, hear this: you are more than
welcome to submit your own material. My only concern is for the final
product. I don"t much care how material comes to me, only that I see it in the
first place.
Just after the first of the year I forward those stories that I find
myself wanting to read again and again — usually about seventy-five — to
our guest editor, who makes the final selection. That task fell this year to the
estimable Rick Reilly, who supplemented my picks with some of his own.
As you read this, I am several knees deep in stories under
consideration for The Best American Sports Writing 2003 and always
welcome more. Each nonfiction story must have been published in 2002 in a
newspaper, magazine, or online publication in either the United States or
Canada, and it must be column-length or longer. Reprints are not eligible. All
submissions must be received by me by February 1, 2003.
All submissions must include the name of the author, the date of
publication, and the publication name and address. Photocopies, tear
sheets, or clean copies are fine — reductions to 8½-by-11 are best.
Newspaper stories should be mounted on paper, if possible, since loose clips
stuffed in envelopes often suffer in transit. Owing to the volume of material I
receive, no submissions will be either returned or acknowledged. Neither is it
appropriate for me to make any comments about any individual submission.
Publications that want to make absolutely certain that I see their
material are advised to send a complimentary subscription to the following
address. This is not, and never has been, a requirement, but with a
subscription I can survey material over the course of the year rather than in a
deluge each January.
Submissions and subscriptions should be sent to this precise
address:
Glenn Stout
Series Editor
The Best American Sports Writing
PO Box 381
Uxbridge, MA 01569
I may also be contacted by e-mail at BASWeditor@cs.com, but please note
that no submissions will be accepted electronically, either pasted in or as an
attachment.
Earlier editions of this book can be ordered through most book
dealers or online sources. An index of stories through the year 2000 is
available on glennstout.net. Thanks again to Eamon Dolan and Emily Little of
Houghton Mifflin for their trust and help each year, and to Rick Reilly for his
active involvement. Siobhan and Saorla again managed to hold their own
against the endless onslaught of paper. Readers Scott Chait and Ed Page,
among others, made significant contributions to this volume as well. And
thanks again to the writers for allowing me to shape their book.
Glenn Stout
Introduction
The only job I"ve been able to hold on to is sports writing. I"ve flopped at
everything else. I"ve been fired more than ceramic pottery and Billy Martin put
together.
I was fired from my first job at fourteen. Lady didn"t like the way I
chewed my gum. Got fired from a rental-equipment place at sixteen. Thought
the boss said, "Fill these jackhammers with fifteen parts oil, one part gas,"
but it turns out it was the other way around. Got fired from a gas station at
eighteen. Left a guy"s oil cap off and it fell down into his fan belt and the
station had to pay $435 to fix it for him. Got fired as a bank teller at nineteen.
Lost $500 one day. Still don"t know where it went.
But knock on wood, sports writing hasn"t 86"ed me yet. Started
doing it for a living at twenty. That"s twenty-five years ago now. If there is ever
a nuclear winter and sports writing is no longer needed, I"m toast.
I"m not saying I"m good, but I think I know what good is. Good is
the stuff we"ve chosen for this book. Good is not easy. College kids write me
all the time asking how to make their writing better. I always hate answering
that letter. You send them tips and you come off like a know-it-all. You ignore
it and you come off like a jerk.
But editing this book has made me think about it. Two chewed
chair legs and three pots of coffee later, I finally came up with ten simple
strategies that I know will work no matter the subject, length, or deadline.
And so, I present now, for your shredding pleasure . . . the Reilly Rules.
1. Never Write a Sentence You"ve Already Read.
That was said by Oscar Wilde, but it"s still the best way to make words jump
off the page and squirt grapefruit juice in the reader"s face. Why write: "He
beat the crap out of the guy" when it"s so much more fun to write: "He turned
the guy into six feet of lumps"?
You ever notice the way cops talk on the eleven o"clock news? On
TV, the cop will go all Dragnet on you: "We apprehended the alleged suspect
after a prolonged pursuit." But then you hear the same cop down at Dunkin"
Donuts and he"s going, "Man, we chased this fruitcake everywhere! Guy
thought he was Secretariat!"
The best writing sounds like that. It sounds like a guy talking to
you over a fence. The Los Angeles Times"s Jim Murray, the greatest
sportswriter who ever lived, wrote like that. Murray put simple words in an
order nobody had seen before.
Murray once wrote in the Los Angeles Times that John Wooden
was "as square as a pan of cornbread." Boog Powell was "just slightly larger
than the Istanbul Hilton." USC"s sweep left was "as unstoppable as a
woman"s tears." And, "Willie Mays" glove is the place where triples go to die."
Steve Rushin of Sports Illustrated writes like that. He would sell
his sister to the Iraqis before he"d write a boring sentence. In his piece "Cold
Comfort," he describes what it felt like the moment the radio told him his
elementary school was closed on account of too much snow.
"Instantly, it"s Mardi Gras and V-E Day and the Lindbergh parade
all in one, and the flakes falling outside look like ticker tape."
Guy makes me sprain my grin.
Blackie Sherrod of the Dallas Morning News once described rogue
quarterback Bobby Layne"s arrest for drunk driving this way:
"Layne . . . stopped off to indulge in some heavy research with
scholarly friends. Late that evening, Bobby was driving to his hotel,
innocently enough, when he was sideswiped by several empty cars lurking at
curbside."
Ever read that before?
2. Get "Em in the Tent.
Murray used to say, "They"ll never see the circus if you can"t get "em in the
tent." Translated: Without a good lead, they"ll never appreciate your death-
defying twinkle-toe transition in the third paragraph. Maybe that"s why he
once led off a column on the safety hazards at the Indianapolis 500
with: "Gentlemen, start your coffins!"
Have you ever been zapping around on the remote, going from one
show to the next? And then something comes on that you just can"t zap
because you have to know what"s going to happen next? That"s what a great
lead does. In this fragmented world, readers are looking for the tiniest excuse
to turn the page, put you down, and get out of their chair. There"s no city
ordinance that says they have to read you.
So you have to make it impossible for them not to go on to the
second graph. Take, for instance, Tom Scocca"s boxing lead from "Blood
Sport."
"Idly, last week, I watched Beethavean Scottland get beaten into a
coma."
Or Outside"s Steve Friedman"s lead from ""It"s Gonna Suck to Be
You"":
"The first time he tried it, the vomiting started after sixty-seven
miles. . . ."
How are you not going to keep reading?
3. Say What You Think.
Wholesale tin-eared butchery sports writing goes like this:
"Monolith Tech and Conglomerate University waged a real war on
Saturday.
""That was a real war out there," said Monolith head coach Bruiser
Smith."
Bad sportswriters have this thing about pens and pads. They have
to use them — to exhaustion. So if they take the time to talk to a coach or a
player or a fan, then they"re damn sure going to use it. But do you realize
that some of the greatest sportswriters in history — Damon Runyon, Ring
Lardner, Grantland Rice — quoted almost nobody? They said what they felt,
knowing they could say it better, funnier, and pithier than any lummox in
shoulder pads.
What good is it to quote five people saying Bubba is fast when
you can say it by yourself with just, "Bubba is faster than rent money"?
Check out the way Dan Neil sums up a night of demolition derby
in his hilarious "Big Night in Bithlo" from Car and Driver:
"As the last toxic fumes from the jet-car bus burning waft over the
crowd, the armadillos poke their heads out from their burrows, and the crowd
heads toward their pickup trucks, this edition of Crash-O-Rama seems an
unqualified success, and by that I mean a complete disaster."
Not a quote in sight.
4. It Sucks Before You Start.
You wrote a piece that sucked. The reason it sucked is not the way you
wrote it. It"s that when you finally sat down to write it, you didn"t have any
good stuff. Unless you"re Dave Barry or Dan Jenkins or David Copperfield,
you"re not going to make Pulitzers out of puke.
Sports Illustrated"s Gary Smith, the I. M. Pei of profilers, has a
rule. He"s not done researching a subject until he"s interviewed at least fifty
people. That"s why he only does four a year. And that"s also why those four
are often the most unforgettable of the year. They are meticulous in their
depth of reporting, nearly preposterous. And yet he throws around quotes the
way Don Rickles threw around compliments. He prods and searches and
hunts until he knows a story so well he can tell it himself, in his own crisp,
penetrating prose.
It"s not a hunt for detail. It"s the hunt for the right detail. The
Philadelphia Daily News"s Mark Kram, Jr., in his "Joe"s Gift," describes how a
boy put up a wall between himself and his grief at the drowning death of his
older brother, Harry:
"He began to systematically erase Harry from the premises: he
sold his bicycle, gave away his books, beanbag chair, and other belongings,
and set fire to his clothes."
That is great reporting. You come up with stuff like that, you can"t
help but write well.
(One other thing. The Washington Post"s Michael Leahy, who was
given the Michael Jordan beat in 2001, is known as a very accurate reporter.
In "Transition Game" he describes a scene in the locker room just before
Jordan"s first comeback game in a Washington Wizard uniform:
"Another writer, who had predicted his comeback amid much
disdain, sidled up, patted his arm, and said, "I didn"t get any apology letters.""
""Don"t expect any either," Jordan said, unwilling to give this man a
morsel tonight either. "You ought to know that.""
know that"s accurate. I was the writer he was writing about.)
5. The Interview Never Ends.
This is just a quickie, but so many writers shut down their ears when the
formal interview ends. Don"t. Keep your eyes and ears open and the invisible
ink flowing even after the subject shakes your hand and says goodbye.
Follow him out. Watch him drive off. You never know what might happen.
hen I was covering golf for Sports Illustrated, I invented "trunking,"
which means following the winner from the eighteenth green, through his
press conference, through his winner"s dinner, through whatever happens, out
to the parking lot, until he puts his clubs in the trunk, slams it, and tells you
to get lost. I got more good stuff doing that, and SI golf reporters still do it. In
fact, that"s how SI managed to quote Vijay Singh winning the 2000 Masters,
going out to the parking lot, slamming the trunk, and declaring: "This place
can kiss my black ass!"
6. Forget Cereal Boxes.
We all get in ruts, where we believe the only sports worth writing about are
the big four: baseball, football, basketball, and hockey — the basic stuff that
shows up on the Wheaties box.
But more often than not, the best dramas, funniest scenes, most
interesting characters, are places where we forget to go. One look through
this book will tell you that. There"s a compelling story about bullfighting, a
fascinating profile of a blind mountain climber, and an eye-gouging look at
backyard wrestling.
Sometimes you might even find a great sports writing story when
you look at . . . sports writing. Or haven"t you read Los Angeles Times
columnist Bill Plaschke"s "Her Blue Haven"?
7. Death to Overwriting!
The quickest freeway to Bushdom, Hackville, Crap City, is to overwrite. Don"t.
Just . . . don"t.
When President Kennedy died, Jimmy Breslin interviewed the
gravedigger. That"s underwriting. That"s poignancy. That says more than a
thousand overwrought paragraphs about "the nation"s heavy-hearted grief."
When Frank Deford came to the key moment in his classic profile of "The
Toughest Coach Who Ever Lived" back in the 1980s, he did it like a knife
going through left-out margarine:
"[Coach] chatted with [his daughter] and told her how much he
missed and loved her, and then he handed the phone to Virginia and went to
finish dressing for the Lions Club meeting. In the bathroom, Bull Cyclone had
just slapped some cologne on his face when he dropped dead without a
sound."
You can"t be graver than death, louder than bombs, more Catholic
than the pope. So don"t try. Go the other way.
8. Adjectives and Adverbs Sorta Suck, Really.
If I can avoid using an adjective, I will. If I can avoid writing, "He was a lucky
sort of guy," and write instead, "He was the kind of guy who could drop a
quarter in a pay phone and have it pay 20 to 1," then I"ve not only made it fun
for me and the guy in the Barcalounger in Peoria, but I stand a good chance
of not being fired for the week.
When ESPN Magazine"s Gene Wojciechowski, as pure a writer
as is working today, wants to show that the late Al McGuire was "trusting,"
he notes that McGuire would throw his car keys on the seat of his unlocked
car. When he wants to show he was "quirky," he remembers how McGuire
would shop in the oddest places for tin toy soldiers. For "rebellious" he
quotes McGuire himself, saying, "I only comb my hair if there are four people
in the room, and if there are four people, I"m getting paid." But not once does
Wojciechowski write, "Al McGuire was a trusting, quirky, rebellious sort of a
guy." And aren"t you glad?
And don"t even talk to me about adverbs. I hate adverbs. I would
rather be coated in chicken drippings and dropped in a leopard den than use
adverbs. If you can"t find a better way to say "hungrily" or "proudly," you need
to find a new line of work, preferably nowhere near words.
9. Look Around, Stupid.
Not to be insulting, but sometimes the best stuff is right in front of us. The
only trick is seeing it. When Orlando Sentinel columnist Mike Bianchi
attended Dale Earnhart"s funeral, he did something odd. He didn"t write about
Earnhart. Or Earnhart"s family. Or Earnhart"s legacy. He wrote about the
other drivers sitting in the church that day, staring into a box they knew could
contain them next week.
One time the writer John McNulty was profiling sensational Triple
Crown winner Native Dancer, owned by the glamorous Vanderbilts. And
McNulty pulled off one of the most delicious Look Arounds I"ve ever read. In
fact, he closed his piece with it:
"As Native Dancer passed each stall where a Vanderbilt horse
was being groomed, work stopped for a few moments. "There he go," one
groom said, pausing to work on his horse, and it was nice to hear him
say, "You a good horse, too.""
10. Ignore All Rules.
After all, you probably have real talent and will end up making Hemingway
look like a guy who writes owner"s manuals for Japanese televisions and will
show up someday and take my job.
And I refuse to go back to the jackhammer refueling industry.
Rick Reilly
Copyright © 2002 by Houghton Mifflin Company
Introduction copyright © 2002 by Rick Reilly
Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
Product details
- Publisher : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (October 15, 2002)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 320 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0618086277
- ISBN-13 : 978-0618086276
- Item Weight : 1.1 pounds
- Dimensions : 5.75 x 1.25 x 8.5 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #5,405,170 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,009 in Sports Journalism
- #2,710 in Sports Essays (Books)
About the author
Follow authors to get new release updates, plus improved recommendations.
Glenn Stout is the author, editor or ghostwriter of nearly 100 books, including YOUNG WOMAN AND THE SEA: How Trudy Ederle Conquered the English Channel and Inspired the World (now in post-production as a MAJOR MOTION PICTURE for Disney+ starring Daisy Ridley. The Year's Best Sports Writing 2021, TIGER GIRL AND THE CANDY KID: AMERICA'S ORIGINAL GANGSTER COUPLE, NY Times bestseller The Pats: An Illustrated History of the New England Patriots, The Selling of the Babe, the groundbreaking Boston Globe bestsellers Fenway 1912 and Red Sox Century, Yankees Century, and the critically acclaimed Nine Months at Ground Zero, and He served as Series Editor for The Best American Sports Writing since its inception. He has been awarded both the Seymour Medal and Ritter Award by the Society for American Baseball Research and "Yes, She Can!" was named on the 2012 Amelia Bloomer list for feminist content.
Glenn also teaches and consults on all aspects of writing, including proposals, manuscripts and longform narrative journalism.
Born in Ohio and a graduate of Bard College, Glenn is dual citizen of the United States and Canada and lived many years In Boston's South End and elsewhere in Massachusetts. He now lives in Vermont with his family on Lake Champlain. Before becoming a writer Glenn did construction work, served as a security guard, a painter, and worked in libraries. Glenn invites his readers to his blog, to join his facebook page for The Best American Sports Writing, or to visit his website, glennstout.net. Anyone interested in arranging an "author visit" or consulting should query Glenn directly at glennstout@fairpoint.net. Follow Glenn @GlennStout, www.glennstout.net
Thanks for reading!
Customer reviews
| 5 star (0%) |
|
0% |
| 4 star (0%) |
|
0% |
| 3 star (0%) |
|
0% |
| 2 star (0%) |
|
0% |
| 1 star (0%) |
|
0% |
How customer reviews and ratings work
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzed reviews to verify trustworthiness.
Learn more how customers reviews work on Amazon
