Each day, it seems, another magazine turns off the press on its glossy pages for the last time. And just as the forms of blogs developed a different, multimedia-assisted way of producing journalism and communicating, so too did the heyday of magazines. Serving almost as a middle ground between the time investment extremes of newspapers and books, magazines allowed the best writers to find topics worthy of that middle ground. Five-thousand words could be used to tell stories that couldn't carry 200 pages.
The best stuff, though, deserves some kind of permanence that gets lost when a new issue arrives in the mail to replace an old title. Compliations can tell bigger stories, and for books like The Best Sports Writing of Pat Jordan, they can tell great stories, too.
Jordan didn't enter my consciousness until a great, unique post surfaced on Deadspin in March 2008. Though the piece didn't conform to the "three paragraphs, two links and maybe an embedded YouTube link" that drives normal blog traffic, it stood out for using everyday interactions to create a big-picture portrait of present-day Jose Canseco. After reading some of his best work, you realize that isn't anything new for Jordan, who has written the types of personal profiles that magazines used as cover stories for decades.
Jordan's strengths lie in telling strong stories without overwriting (something at least one journalism contest judge has accused me of in my day, so I recognize its absence). Clear-eyed scenes with just the right amount of description set the stage for the personal revelations to follow. And, when they aren't as forthcoming, that can reveal even more. Such is the case for a 1997 New York Times Magazine profile of Richard Williams and his daughters, Serena and Venus, where the father's attempts at media manipulation reveal their own truths.
That doesn't mean Jordan won't turn a phrase, though. His greatest might just be this excerpt from "The Pork," a look back on a unique basketball talent from Jordan's adolescence:
A basketball in his hands looked like a beachball in the hands of a gnomelike child. He could never even think of palming a basketball, nor could he shoot one-handed like most basketball players, who spread their fingers over the ball, gripped it firmly, and propelled it with their fingertips. When the ball left their hands their fingers would be spread wide as if they were about to cop a feel from Dolly Parton. Alas, Porky's small hands couldn't encompass the breast of an eighth-grade girl. So he adjusted.
Inserting one's self into a magazine story has become cliche, played for laughs in films like Adaptation and the Rolling Stone scenes in Almost Famous. Jordan doesn't overplay his hand in this regard, but in some cases the interviews turn on what the author brings to the table. The former "bonus baby" pitcher flamed out before reaching his expected heights, but brings an athlete's mentality and a writer's introspection to every interview. So an infamous piece on Steve Garvey and his wife might refer to a "companion" or "stranger," giving the reader the sense that even though Jordan is there with his tape recorder or notepad, he's hovering above it all to take in a full scene that might not be so apparent to other interviewers. It makes for tremendous perspective, using eyes much more than I's.
Jordan's baseball background makes for some of the strongest pieces in this book, on guys like Carlton Fisk, Whitey Herzog, Roger Clemens (including what comic book fans might call a first appearance by Brian McNamee) and Steve Carlton. And he deals a devastating blow to the media echo chamber and the idea of a real-life Roy Hobbs in a 2001 story on "Toe" Nash. The prodigy, opportunists and journalists all come out the worse for wear after Jordan's trip to Louisiana.
The book wraps a bow on the content with an interview between Jordan and Alex Belth. The questions help shed some interesting light on the back stories for some of the pieces, and the mindset of a guy who has reached for the definitive words to describe the world honestly. Some might say that this ability comes from Jordan's brief time in the athletic spotlight and the empathy it infused into his mindset. But I think it might be simpler than that. In general feature writing, strength rests on the ability of the subject to be interesting. As Steve Martin's character said in L.A. Story, showing off is the idiot's version of being interesting. Jordan doesn't have to show off, allowing the most interesting among us to talk with a peer for all the world to hear.
"Why do you like to play bridge?" I say.
"It's a fascinating game."
"Why is it fascinating?"
Tom [Seaver] looks at me, bemused. "It just is."
"But why?"
"Why? Why? Why? It's always, 'Why?' with you. That's sick! I don't know why! I don't even think about why!"
You can read more from Pat Jordan and editor Alex Beth here at Baseball Analysts.
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