Well, Terry apparently continues immersed in matters indexical, as he warned us. I have some deadlines of my own to cope with. All in all, it’s looking like a light menu here at the arts blog today.
However, it is beyond my powers of self-suppression not to somehow mark the beginning of the new hockey season–yes, even here at this arts-dedicated site. Now, if baseball were my thing, I’d actually have a pretty easy time of it. From Roger Angell to John Sayles, cultural and artistic attention to baseball is not just plentiful, it can sometimes seem downright pestilent. (I’m looking at you, NYTBR–an entire issue? Every year?)
With hockey the pickings are most definitely slimmer, at least down here south of the border. But there are a few things I can call your attention to. Of course, there’s the elephant in the room; it may be old news, but it always holds up to another viewing. Then there’s the far-flung hidden gem, to procure which you’ll have to trek to the far reaches of internet commerce, Amazon Canada, but which I recommend most highly. Finally, there’s the nostalgic favorite.
But let me put in an extra word for Mordecai Richler’s wonderful book (that would be the hidden gem). It includes essays not only about my game of choice but about boxing, sports writing by non-sportswriters, Jews in sports, and (natch) baseball. It’s a showcase where a master novelist gets to be fan, artist, journalist, and–since a game well played is in his eyes art–critic, all at once.