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What about my gamer on last week's district cross country meet? Forget story of the year, I'm thinking Pulitzer.
To understand Arenas, you have to go back to the beginning. To understand his journey, where he has traveled and how he came to light up a moribund basketball team in Washington, you need to start over. To understand the player who gallops off the Verizon Center floor bare-chested after tossing his jersey into the stands following Wizards home games, who likes to practice alone in the middle of the night, who must own every DVD and collectible jersey he can buy, who is such an extroverted performer that he leaves work to become a solitary homebody, you have to go back to the rundown Overtown section of Miami. You have to go back to apartment No. 9.
You have to go back to the mother who gave him up there. And then you have to come forward, to the mother of his 10-month-old baby girl and the opulent red brick home he bought for them on a cul-de-sac in the Virginia suburbs.
Don't read this story. For Mia's sake. Don't read it or even look at the pictures. It might take too long. Then she'd feel like a burden. You might get to know her. Then she'd have to agonize over what you think.
She'll be disappearing soon anyway. For good. She's got one more year, the woman who launched millions of girls across thousands of fields. Two final engagements on the world stage. The first begins this weekend, in the World Cup, which is back on U.S. soil because of the SARS epidemic in China. The second occurs in Athens, at next summer's Olympics. In between she'll marry one of the greatest shortstops in baseball, but there's no way you'll see that.
Perhaps, in spite of her, we'll see her place in history--the first female team-sport superstar--and finally understand how many more complications lay in her path than in those blazed by the women icons of the solo sports, the Babes and Billie Jeans, the Wilmas and Chrissies and Peggys who preceded her.
It's tricky business, being anointed queen amid a circle of female peers, having to dismantle the throne even as you sit on it. Maybe she can pull it off here too. Maybe she can fill a dozen magazine pages without being seen. Maybe at the end you still won't know what makes a woman ignite and extinguish herself all at once.
Cosmo said:Isn't that our job sometimes? To make the ordinary interesting using a variety of literary devices at our disposal.
Jones said:Whenever I'm guilty of overwriting, it's because I don't feel like the story, on its own, is good enough to carry itself. Either I've made a poor topic choice from the start, or I've failed somewhere along the line in my reporting. So you try to gloss it up with some elaborate story device and lots of wah-wah pedal.
But if a story's worth telling, you probably don't need many tricks to get people to the end of it. Just make sure it hangs nicely, and that the writing is crisp and perhaps a little artful, and that the ending is somehow surprising and yet inevitable-seeming, and you're even money to have done good work.
Jones said:Okay, Pringle, that's pretty damn funny.
No, it's not easy. What I meant was, it's not all that complicated, either. It's telling a story... Like cave painting, only with more adjectives.
friend of the friendless said:Sirs, Madames,
****. Ten minutes before I read DD's narrative jag I just wrote
This is a story about walls ...
I am the world's biggest loser. Or should I let that go unstated.
Your Humbled Servant, etc