“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.’”
The meetings came and went very quickly, like so much of my life. I was sure Valerie said she worked in fifty-minute blocks, but I barely seemed to arrive before I was home again. The conversations while I was there seemed the weird end of bizarre, as well. I didn’t really know what the therapists’ agenda was, but I quickly got the feeling they were trying to nudge me down a particular path. I couldn’t put my finger on it, so one day Valerie came out and said it.
According to her I shared my body with dozens of other people.
I waited for the punchline but it never came.
But isn’t it time to lay down the sword? Or is English to remain a language whose spelling varies from country to country, publication to publication—and even within the same publication if you happen to catch it at different times or different editorial reigns? Gray or grey is the least of the problem.