By Robert Lipsyte
A long-time activities columnist for the 'New York instances' combines own tales with the occasions he has coated, discussing how 'Jock tradition' has permeated company, politics, and family members lifestyles, and the way its definitions became the normal to degree worth
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Extra resources for An accidental sportswriter : a memoir
I’m still figuring out how much of what kept me on the job was the pull of sporting events themselves and how much was the perspective that sports gave me on the larger world. I could enjoy the Kentucky Derby, for example, as a great horse race, a splendid party, and a vignette of Americana only the first couple of times I covered it before issues of class, race, and equine exploitation became impossible to ignore. The first two Super Bowls I covered (II and III) were bang-up football games. What fun I had, drinking with Coach Vince Lombardi, hanging out with Joe Namath, meeting sportswriters from all over the country!
So I made some phone calls, sent some e-mails, Googled and Facebooked. No Willie. So for now I’ll just keep Willie in his little room in my mind until I need him again. I’m sure I will. Chapter Two The Piper When I was twenty-five,” wrote my idol Gay Talese of his early New York Times career, “I was chasing stray cats around Manhattan. . ” When I was nineteen, in 1957, I was chasing Gay Talese. I was a copyboy in the Times sports department, and Gay was a sports reporter whose feature stories were turning the so-called Old Gray Lady into Technicolor.
I’d been snooping in the Science section for a book with pictures of naked women and found instead that masculinity chart. I couldn’t even discuss the chart with Dad because he was a schoolteacher. I didn’t want to make him feel bad. Now, of course, I wish I had. He could have taken it. I would have learned something. Maybe I was less concerned about his feelings than about appearing soft and weak to him. I saw Dad as a tough guy. He may have loved to read philosophy, but his career—from middle school English teacher through principal to director of the city’s several dozen schools for troubled kids—had been in rough neighborhoods bristling with switchblades and zip guns.
An accidental sportswriter : a memoir by Robert Lipsyte