Sunday, August 1, 2010

No Comparison

Before A-Fraud Roidriguez hits his 600th steroids-aided homer, I wanted to post Ted Williams' last at bat, which of course was a homer. The whole world wanted Williams to acknowledge the fans by tipping his cap, but he hadn't done it in 19 years, ans wasn't about to do it then.

Here is how John Updike famously wrote about that moment in The New Yorker:

Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn't tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted "We want Ted" for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.

No comments: