We might not get to choose between Peeta and Gale, but we can have Katniss Everdeen’s archery skills. Since The Hunger Games became popular, young girls are picking up bows and arrows more than ever before. Membership at USA Archery has doubled in the past two years, and people are buying recurve bows faster than they can make them. Perhaps they’d also enjoy the Hunger Games day camp we wrote about earlier.
Major League Soccer put together a nice video to accompany the audio of Colum McCann reading his poem, “Robbie Keane.”
College football season is upon us. Here’s our own Nick Moran’s list of recommended of books and articles.
“In an increasingly digital world, literary critics need to become less like play-by-play announcer Joe Buck and more like color commentator Tim McCarver.” Our own Michael Bourne on book reviews in the digital age.
"What cured Crisp’s cancer, it seems, was an experimental drug, an early form of chemotherapy, which he was given by the Greek doctors. He was told to apply it to his body, but instead he drank it. ‘It was so disgusting that he mixed it with a bottle of retsina and drank that instead.’"
- The life of the most extraordinary man to play Test cricket by Andy Bull
“Friday Night Lights owed part of that popularity to its local flavor, which included a careful examination of Odessa’s racism. ([Buzz] Bissinger had to cancel his reading at the town’s B. Dalton after locals called and threatened ‘bodily harm.’) More than anything, though, the book told a story that seemed powerfully symbolic. Odessa mattered, as Bissinger put it in his preface, ‘not because it was a Texas town, but an American one.’
Today, that story - troubled town, precarious season, political resonance - has congealed into a narrative that sports books must follow. The latest is Keith O’Brien’s Outside Shot: Big Dreams, Hard Times, and One County’s Quest for Basketball Greatness. It’s a solid book, but also one that falters under the legacy of Friday Night Lights.”
"In a 1963 New York Times article, Hank Sauer, an all-star outfielder in the ’50s, declared, ‘Any guy who ever says anything bad about Stan Musial has to have something wrong with him.’ Rather than boosting Musial’s post-career popularity, this sort of attitude, no matter how well intentioned, effectively turned Musial into a cardboard cutout, a bygone era’s one-dimensional paragon of constancy, stability, community fealty, and humility, devoid of the temperamental shadings that humanize public figures. A 2007 profile in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch earnestly dubbed him ‘baseball’s Galahad.’”