Another Lull

 

Red Smith

"Writing is easy. All you have to do is sit at a typewriter and open a vein." -- Red Smith

I reach these points where I feel tapped out.

There are no new ideas and, frankly, the visits to the site are minimal. That tells me something.

I told Susan last night that I felt like yesterday -- the 681st day in a row -- felt like it was time to sit one out.

I get it. Not every post is great, or even good. The great ones are few.

Recognition goes a long way. But, I keep persevering. 

Most nights, I write for me, with a hope that you'll enjoy it.

Some nights I try to find the sweet spot for you. Writing about masks, with a picture of ol' Andy Cuomo, was a topic that nobody felt like embracing.

But I still write, trying to find the voice that the writers of my youth inspired me to, even if I never realized it.

Your writers were probably Shakespeare and Hemingway and Stephen King. Maybe you found interest in writers like Dorothy Parker or poets such as Emily Dickinson. Those are some of Susan's heroes.

Some of my writers are Red Smith and Grantland Rice and Bill Madden and Joe Posnanski and Mike Vaccaro and ... yes ... Mike Lupica.

Sportswriters, all.

And others, of course. Sure, I loved Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck but I'm no officanado.

Back to Lupica. Yeah, he can be ... well ... he is what he is, I suppose. He often crapped on the Yankees at every turn but I still read him and gritted my teeth.

Still, he knew how to turn a phrase and tell a story. He made me recognize that if I ever dabbled in writing, my forte would be that of a columnist. I can write a game story. Sure.

But I can tell a story. I can offer my piddly two cents.

His "Shooting From the Lip" column every Sunday in the New York Daily News became my go-to in the 1980s.

It also became the blueprint for my occasional "Off the Bench" pieces, which serve as a collection of one- or a couple-liners.

I suppose he helped me to recognize that I didn't have to agree with a writer or broadcaster to find them compelling. Fawning over Doc or Darryl or Mookie gave me hope that he'd also write about Donnie and Winfield and Rags.

I even got to meet him, when he visited his friend Mr. Imus at the I-Man's book signing in New Canaan, CT. I admit I didn't really talk to him.

He's not easy to like, at least from a public perspective, I suppose.

But damn, he made me care a little bit about writing, which is a skill I never remotely thought I had and am still not convinced.

Hence, my my conundrum at 682 posts and counting.

Which appears to be heading towards 683.