Glorious Roger Angell, the New Yorker's kept sportsman, stepson of E.B. White, can always be counted on for sparkling baseball writing. He hits a new high-water mark for amazing writing about ball with his postseason summary. Somehow he manages to make the prose gleaming, the narrative gripping, and the strained comparisons to American democracy subdued.
At the 13th-inning climax of delirious Game 5, I was in my apartment watching the game, worrying about Jason Varitek's ability to catch Tim Wakefield's infuriating floater. I was screaming "Just throw your f---in' curveball" as three horrible, beautiful knucklers got away from 'Tek. Angell has the delicious pain of that moment on tap in this passage:
Low on fuel, the Ameriquest advertising blimp headed for the barn. The game's eventualities at last brought Wakefield on to pitch for the Sox in the twelfth. As a starting knuckleballer, he generally paired with the second-string catcher, Doug Mirabelli, a nanny for the wanton pitch, but removing the powerful Varitek from the lineup was not an option here. As we know, the knuckler devises its own flight path after it leaves the pitcher's hand, and Sheffield, the Yankee leadoff man in the thirteenth, struck out on a fritillary that darted away from his bat and Varitek's mitt as well, delivering the batter safe at first. A force-play out put Matsui there in his place, and then, oopsie, over to second on a further Varitek embarrassment, and-yikes!-to third, on still another sailer. Smiling wanly, the rooters foresaw a fresh end: the Red Sox eliminated by a butterfly. Sierra, at bat with two on and two out, swung through the three-and-two and missed it cleanly, as Varitek, a mastiff after a song sparrow, jumped at the ball and swallowed it clean.
Like the man says, read the whole thing.
(Hat tip: Beth at Cursed & First.)