The Yang Slinger: Vol. C

For a writer, few things are worse than entering a coffee shop, finding your spot, sitting down—and being damned by the wobbly table.

Because Southern California is aflame, and because I am feeling profoundly depressed, I initially decided to skip this week’s Substack.

Then, however, something happened …

As I write this, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Armonk, N.Y. It’s named Tazza Cafe, and it’s a quaint little place with a thick beverage menu, myriad snacks and a nice vibe. However, when I entered this morning, and grabbed a table, the fucking thing wobbled.

And wobbled.

And wobbled.

And I thought, “Crap.”

I thought, “Double crap.”

I thought, “Crap, crap, crap, crap.”

Then I regained my cool, regained my veteran savvy and did this …

In case you’re confused, or unfamiliar with coffee shop culture, that is a triple-folded napkin, placed beneath the damaged nub of a sad-sack table in need of balance. And, with that singular act of genius, the table was repaired. I ordered my overpriced skim cafe mocha, plopped down my laptop and commenced with work.

Why? Because I’m a bad-ass motherfucker.

Covid seems pretty much on the run, and chickenpox hasn’t been an issue in quite a while. Polio is largely gone, and measles (save for those who kneel at the RFK, Jr. shrine) followed the path of the dodo bird. But across the United States of America, there is a pandemic that goes unnoticed by 99.9 percent of society. It is a horrible blight upon humanity that needs to be stopped—yet ravages on, like a poisonous dart aimed at those of us who leak ink and dog ear notepads.

It is the Terror of the Wobbly Coffee Shop Table.

Stop laughing. Seriously, stop laughing. This is a thing, and it legitimately sucks. Or, put different: You’re a journalist. Maybe your name rhymes with, oh, Schmeff Hurlman. You have eight hours to write, and you don’t wanna sit at home, what with the distractions of the TV, the refrigerator, your wife’s love of Andy Grammer, the dog pawing the couch until you finally threaten her with decapitation and kick her in the ribs pet her warmly. So you head out to a cafe. And it’s perfect. Drinks! Food! Internet! Even a cherished outlet! You grab the one remaining table, prepare to dive into the bliss, and then …

Wobble.

Wobble.

Wobble.

Now, to the non-writer, this might seem like no big deal. After all, a table is a table is a table, and for most tasks wobbliness isn’t such an issue. One can knit on a wobbly table, watch porn on a wobbly table (not, cough, that I would know), play slither.io on a wobbly table (this, I do know). Writing, though … well, writing on a wobbly table is damn near impossible. It’s actually inexplicable, because we—the sports scribes of America—grow accustomed to writing through all sorts of elements. I’ve written in rain, in ice, in sweltering heat. I’ve written cross-legged on wood bleachers, leaning against a wall. I’ve written with people yelling at me and women hitting on me.¹

But a wobbly coffee shop table—damn.

And I’m not alone in feeling this way.

Mirin Fader, The Ringer: “Nothing is worse than a wobbly table. Oh, my God. It’s like finding out the coffee shop is out of coffee.”

Chris Herring, ESPN: “I don’t have the patience [for a wobbly table]. The writing process is already too much to deal with.”

Yaron Weitzman, Fox Sports: “It’s a no-go for me. It ruins my work session and I leave much faster.”

Jon Wertheim, Sports Illustrated: “I go bar over table every time for that reason. I once saw a man remove one of his socks and use it to balance the table.”

In short, with very rare exception, no writer worth their salt can create greatness while sitting at a wobbly table. In 1939, John Steinbeck wrote “The Grapes of Wrath” at a table as firm as Matt Cushman’s handshake. In 2011, Snooki wrote “Confessions of a Guidette” atop a wobbly table.

It’s that simple.

So what to do?

The big answer takes us to Erlanger, Kentucky, where more than a decade ago the husband-wife team of Bill and Wendy Woodside created something called “The Wobble Stopper,” and ingenious device that, according to the company website, provides a “solution to the ever-present and annoying problem of wobbly tables.”

And as soon as I saw the product, I was like, “Christ has risen!”

But, alas, the website appears to be old and there’s literally no link to order the damn thing. Plus, it looks big and clumsy and expensive. I’m not sure I can enter the local Starbucks with what appears to be a six-foot black metal dildo poking from my backpack …

Sarah the Barista Who Sees Me Every Week: “Hey, Jeff. The usual?”

Jeff: “Yup. Thanks Sarah.”

Sarah the Barista Who Sees Me Every Week: “Is that a giant black metal dildo sticking out of your backpack.”

Jeff: “No, it’s The Wobble Stopper.”

Sarah the Barista Who Sees Me Every Week: “Riiiiiight.”

It’s not happening.

So, minus the black metal dildo, you first go with the napkin. Why? Because napkins are readily available and easy to fold. They have to be your go-to device. “It’s amazing what happens when you fold a piece of napkin,” says the author Amy Bass. “It goes from something that literally gives up when wet to a block of damn concrete!”

Adds Erik Sherman, also an author of multiple books: “ I fold paper napkins at just the right height to eliminate the wobble.”

And Amy and Erik both offer sound advice. Solid even. However, there are lingering issues. First, sometimes the wobbliness of a table is too grand for mere napkins. For example, I’ve been in a handful of Starbucks so shitty and malnourished that three of a table’s legs are the stature of Victor Wembanyama, and the fourth is Emmanuel Lewis. Napkins simply cannot do the job.

Enter: The cardboard cup holder!

Truly, those things are magic. They’re very thick, they hold form and they give you two (and sometimes three, if you know how to game the system) folds. Another option (not one I particularly endorse) comes via Kyle Bandujo, author and podcast host, whose history as a former high-level college baseball pitcher taught him much about playing the angles. “If there’s no other table available,” he says, “it’s the permanent lean move. Embrace the wobble, lean into the side it’s favoring or keep it leaned with your leg.”

Adds Keri Blakinger of the Los Angeles Times: “I was working with another writer at a wobbly courthouse table yesterday and we just agreed I would lean my hardest on the table to keep it down on my side and not fuck up his zoom.”

I asked my social media peeps for their thoughts, and wide-ranging options arrived in full force. Jennifer Goode-Stevens, my former Tennessean colleague, suggested sugar packets (which seem sorta thin for me—but maybe Nashville’s wobbly tables aren’t quite so wobbly). Another friend, Martha Frankel of Woodstock Bookfest, volunteered “match books,” which feels a hair outdated but ideal for smokers. Gail Sideman, the veteran publicist, advised keeping junk mail with you for special wobbly occasions. Stas Przymylski, a musician and high school teacher, emphasized the value of coasters—a sound thought, though relatively/surprisingly rare in cafes. Drew Davis, my Facebook friend and a former restaurant manager, mentioned Wobble Wedges—and I presumed he was joking. Because it sounds like a joke. Or a gag. Or a way to make your least-favorite Substack writer look like a fool. But … no. Right there, on Amazon, are Wobble Wedges. All sorts of Wobble Wedges!

Who knew?

Ultimately, what matters is that, one way or another, the wobble ceases and society can be saved. What matters is that we, the world’s creators of content, can enter the cafe of our choosing, pay ridiculous fees for a mediocre drink and pound out at least 150 words over seven or eight tortured hours of watching porn, playing slither.io and devoting intensive brainpower to trying to learn the full name of Beau Bridges’ character in “Jerry Maguire.”

I’d give up a sock for that.

The Quaz Five with … Jessica Sands-Hoffman

So about a month ago I was inside a thrift store when, for $3, I purchased the record “Steady Date with Tommy Sands,” the 1957 debut album of a long-ago teenage heartthrob. And, being honest, I’d never heard of Sands or his music. But I went home, plopped down the album—and loved it. That sent me down a Tommy Sands rabbit hole that took me to a YouTube channel run by his daughter, Jessica.

And that led to this week’s Quaz with Jessica Sands-Hoffman—a fantastic singer who can be followed on Instagram and via her website.

1. Jessica, so the other day I was in a record store and I bought your dad's 1957 album, "Steady Date with Tommy Sands." At the time he's turning 30, young, dashing, on top of the world. And I wonder how you, his daughter, look at it? Does it seem like another person? Can you still see flickers of that Tommy Sands in your 87-year-old father?: I look at my dad’s career upon turning 30 and being, as you say, “on top of the world” with awe. I am blown away with the scale and spectacle of it all. It’s overwhelming. Yes, when I look at the cover of “Steady Date with Tommy Sands,” it very much seems like another person. And yes, when my dad smiles or watches one of his movies, or listens to his music I see flickers of “that Tommy Sands.”

2. So you studied classical music at the University of Washington, then sang in cover bands at night to help pay for your education. And you ultimately dropped out and appeared on "Star Search." And I wonder—what were your musical goals, and how much were they impacted by your father? And do you feel musically fulfilled/content with your career?: Yes, I studied classical music at the University of Washington and sang in cover bands to help pay for my education. And yes, I dropped out 28 credits short of graduating and was on “Star Search.” My dream was to be a pop star and to get a record deal with Capitol Records like my father. At the time, I had signed a demo deal with RCA out of New York and thought moving to L.A. was the right decision so I could focus solely on music. The A&R person who was working on my project was let go from the company and all the projects they were working on were dropped. When I moved to Los Angeles, I reconnected with my father after being mostly estranged from him since my parents divorced when I was 7. A few years earlier my dad had been badly beaten up and pistol whipped to the head. He was shopping in a convenience store when three young men asked him to buy them beer and when he wouldn’t, they waited for him to leave and then jumped him. I remember going to the hospital and being shown an X-ray of his brain. A section of his brain had been damaged, making him unable to care for himself. That’s when my dad first moved in with me and my roommate.

To circle back to your question, yes my father has impacted my musical goals/dreams. Listening to my dad’s music and watching him perform gave me the courage to sing. Learning that my dad played a little guitar and wrote some of his early songs gave me the courage to write music. I’ve heard it said, “If you can see it, you can believe it.” I believe that is the greatest gift my dad has given me … and now I’m emotional. To answer the last part of your question—“Do you feel musically fulfilled/content with your career?” Yes and no. Yes, I’ve been blessed to be able to sing backup for my dad, perform in theme parks and on cruise ships. Currently, I sing for Japanese weddings and corporate events in Hawaii. My newish goals are to continue writing and releasing original music. I would love to have one of my songs placed in a movie. That would be awesome.

3. You do YouTube videos with your dad. And he's clearly quite old, his memory isn't the best. Honestly, they make me both sad (the passing of time) and happy (the love). I'm wondering—why do you do them? What's the motivation?: My motivation for starting my dad’s YouTube channel is layered. One, it was my hope to reconnect my dad to the world. Two, to let his fans see that he is alive and well. At 87, that’s a win. Three, to do something fun with my dad. He doesn’t talk a lot but when we do videos he gets a little spark back in his eyes. Four, I’ve read very kind things and not-so-kind-things on the Internet about my dad. It is my hope that when people see the “Steady Date with Tommy Sands” as he is now they will see his kindness, gentleness, pride, and regret. His humanness.

4. What was your dad like during your youth? Did you know about his past as a pop star? Was he just ... dad. Like, I've attached an old article about girls basically ripping your dad apart. Do you know THAT Tommy Sands?: I remember being a young girl living in Hawaii while my dad was living in California, and I would ask him to sing me to sleep. His go-to song was “A Bushel and a Peck” from Guys and Dolls. The lyric goes, “I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, a hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap, a barrel and a heap and I’m talkin’ in my sleep about you.” Yes, he was just “Dad.” I can’t imagine one girl ripping my dad’s clothes off, let alone 1,200 as the article stated. But, I have been lucky to witness thousands of grown women and men,dance and sing and stand in line for autographs for my dad. It’s definitely a fan-girl moment.

5. Do you think your dad was done wrong by the business? Should he have had a longer career? Or ... is this just life?: I haven’t walked one day in my dad’s shoes so I can’t say if show business did my father wrong. But I believe he has done a lovely job managing the highs and the lows of its ride. When you ask my dad how he is today, his answer is always the same—”Good.” He doesn’t complain, he doesn’t bad-mouth others and he isn’t a victim.

BONUS—rank in order favorite to least: Honolulu, Yokohama, "Goin' steady," pickleball, your right thumb, long walks on the beach, sushi, the University of Delaware, vaping, right-handed relief pitchers, the number 4: Pickleball, long walks on the beach, sushi, “Goin' Steady,” Honolulu, Yokohama, the number 4, my right thumb, right-handed relief pitchers, University of Delaware, vaping.

A random old article worth revisiting …

On March 31, 1980, the Associated Press reported on the general British loathing of Princess Anne, the 29-year-old member of the Royal Family who blew her allowance of horses. Damn her.

The Madness of Tyler Kepner’s Grid …

So unless you’ve been living beneath a pebble beneath a rock beneath a big hunk of cheese, you’re aware of Immaculate Grid, the daily game that’s drawn thousands of nerdy sports fans (guilty!) to its ranks. And while the NBA grid, NFL grid, NHL grid and WNBA grid are all fun, this game is at its best when it comes to baseball—where the names are endless and the transactions ceaseless. No one owns the medium like Tyler Kepner, the Athletic’s fantastic baseball writer.

Here’s a breakdown of one of his recent efforts …

Tyler thoughts:

• Chris Gimenez is a great guy, hosts a lot on MLB Network Radio, actually pitched quite a few times in blowouts.

• Loyal readers of this Substack are well aware of my go-to guy, Todd Greene.

• Neifi Perez had to come in and catch in a game I covered in Anaheim in 1998 after two Rockies catchers got hurt. He promptly allowed a game-ending wild pitch.

• Don Kelly, another of my favorite baseball people. Wrote about him playing all nine positions when he was with Detroit.

• Randy Ready: One of the Phillies I rooted for in the 80s/90s. Terrific utility man.

• Cy Block is a name I randomly came across on Baseball Reference. Noticed that he played the 45 positions (second and third) and played for the Cubs, who were in a World Series in ‘45. Somehow retained that info in my weird brain.

• I covered Desi Relaford with the Mets in 2001. Liked him a lot, and he had really good stuff in the one inning he pitched against the Padres that year.

• Covered Enrique Wilson with the Yanks. Joe Torre put him in right field one game, probably as a way to jump-start the front office into action. They traded for Raul Mondesi the next day. Wilson was a funny guy— always kept DragonBallZ characters on the shelf in his locker.

• Luis Aguayo was my mom’s favorite player when I was a kid. Reserve infielder who seemed to always come through in the clutch. I wrote to him once about it and he signed the cards to her with the inscription “Love Always.” Fan for life!

This week’s college writer you should know about …

Christian Marshall, Howard University

A senior journalism major at Howard, Christian wrote a fantastic piece for The Hilltop headlined, HOW THIS HOWARD TRACK AND FIELD CHAMPION BALANCES A BLOSSOMING ACTING CAREER.

Wrote Christian:

On a brisk September afternoon, the Howard track and field team can be seen running up and down the grassy hills behind Greene Stadium, preparing for the upcoming winter season. One of the jumpers, however, stands out among the rest of his running teammates.

This teammate is senior triple jumper Chase Drewery, who is frantically preparing for an audition, going over his lines on a flashcard as he runs through technique drills.

“Practice was in the middle of my audition,” Drewery said. “I had to know these lines, so if I’m going to lose this time, I might as well know the lines when I come back so I can run straight through it.”

Drewery was auditioning for a part in “Law & Order,” and while he ultimately did not get cast for the role that day at practice, the experience encapsulates the dedication and determination that has led him to break school records as a triple jumper and break into Hollywood as an actor.

Kick-ass stuff.

One can follow Christian on LinkedIn here.

Bravo.

My TikTok offering of the week …

So I left Twitter, joined TikTok—and am loving, loving, loving the storytelling modus. It’s fun and light and free of the Twitter hate. You can follow me here, and every week (at least until the medium is banned in America) I’m gonna post one of my videos. Just, because, hey—a guy needs to eat.

@jeffpearlmanauthorFormer Oriole pitcher Brian Matusz died yesterday at age 37. His final Big League start tells a somber story. #brianmatusz #baltimoreorioles #chicagocubs #rip #mlb

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Journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: I’ve been fuming over this for a few days, so I’m just gonna vent: Fuck Donald Trump. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. Los Angeles is burning the fuck down, and this is what you decide to do …

You’re a fucking monster, and I hope a worm enters through your ear, eats out the dough, then carries you to his nest to have your 300-pound Bic Mac-stuffed corpse embalmed with moth shit and rabbit hair.

Musing 2: I’d like to congratulate Jeff Bezos on working overtime to destroy the Washington Post, my favorite newspaper. It’s funny—the Post’s motto is, “Democracy dies in darkness.” Turns out democracy dies when wealthy assholes decide their fortunes are the lone things that matter.

Musing 3: For Chanukah my son bought me the Les Payne book, “The Dead Are Arising: The Life of Malcolm X.” And it’s a very strong biography with one thing that has been lacking from past works on the Civil Rights icon: Doggedly firm reporting.

Musing 4: Daniel Popper of The Athletic is excellent, as is his recent article, HOW JIM HARBAUGH BUILT THE CHARGERS CULTURE: BLACK EYED PEAS, BLUE-COLLAR GIFTS, AUTHENTICITY. Wrote Popper: “Culture is easy to identify but difficult to define. You know a good one when you see it, when you feel it. Understanding the specifics of what it takes to build one? That is a rare skill. Harbaugh has changed the Chargers’ culture in one season. The Chargers went from 5-12 in 2023 to 11-6 in 2024. They are in the playoffs and will play at the Houston Texans in the wild-card round on Saturday afternoon. How did he do it? The trust exists in the moments. In doing up-downs in front of the team. In reciting Black Eyed Peas lyrics. In wearing Jordan cleats to every practice while doing drills with his players. In wearing powder blue gloves on game day while catching passes from Herbert.”

Musing 5: Say what you will about the Los Angeles Times these days, but the coverage of the ongoing fires has been courageous, bold and important. Bravo to the staff (photographer Wally Skalij has done breathtaking work), and fuck you to people who insist we no longer need journalism.

We need it more than ever.

Musing 6: Annie Gowan of the Los Angeles Times with this absolutely heartbreaking story, ‘HE WAS NOT GOING TO LEAVE HIS SON BEHIND,’ WOMAN SAYS OF FATHER. Writes Gowan:

Musing 7: Frustrating how few media outlets are willing to utter the words, “Climate” and “Change” side by side. And screw Elon Musk for being such a monumental monster.

Musing 8: You’re Karen Bass, Los Angeles mayor. And even if Sky News reporter David Blevins is being an asshole here—you need to fire back. You need to do whatr the Republicans do, and snarl, make a tough-guy face and say, “My city is on fire. I haven’t slept in 72 hours. And you’re spewing Elon Musk to me? Seriously? Is this a fucking joke?”

Musing 9: My pal Michael J. Lewis writes glowingly of the new Bob Dylan biopic, “A Complete Unknown.” And while I saw it and thought, “Eh, meh,” Lew couldn’t get enough of the film. Wrote Lew: “I’m not sure ‘A Complete Unknown’ fully explains him, but wow is it fun watching it try. The whole movie takes place between 1961-66, when Dylan arrives in New York hoping to meet his idol, Woody Guthrie, who he’d read was sick and in the hospital.”

Musing 10: Very interesting article in The Hilltop, Howard’s student newspaper, on the feelings of Black students after seeing Cynthia Erivo’s portrayal of Elphaba in “Wicked.” Wrote Sydney Goitia-Doran: “In addition to the Black representation provided by Erivo, the themes of ‘Wicked’—Elphaba being treated differently for her skin color and advocating for equal treatment of animals—echo fights for equality in real life. Noel Desire Best, a sophomore musical theater major from Houston, Texas by way of Cape Town, South Africa, said Erivo’s experience as a Black woman added layers to the character and resonated with some of her experiences and saw the same for people around her.”

Musing 11: WHAT THE BOOK SECTION LIKES by Freddy deBoer is a legit fascinating look into the world of book reviewing. Writes deBoer: “There was almost a specific day, in the late 2010s, where every liberal journalist suddenly purported to be a fan of James Baldwin, to have always read James Baldwin. In adopting this deferential position they drained Baldwin of all of the fractious life that makes his work so beguiling, the way it rejects summary and invites complication; few writers would ever be so uncomfortable at being universally celebrated. More recently, Haruki Murakami has gone from being a novelist that everyone professed to like to being a novelist that everyone professes to hate, seemingly overnight, readers and critics moving in lockstep as the perceived public taste has changed. (This sudden conformity of negative opinion was blessed by LitHub, the ultimate arbiter of safe middlebrow front-of-class-kid soggy identity liberal literary taste; they did so by quoting from a review by Alex Preston, a minor novelist who wrote a wounded takedown, as is the habit of minor novelists.) I hate this shit, when everybody suddenly blesses or damns the same writers. I hate it. There is nothing I hate more than a soft landing, and that’s what all of this conformity incentivizes - soft landings for writers who write books and soft landings for the writers who review them. So many books get published every year. So few of them get the accounting they deserve. Why not let a thousand flowers bloom, before the moneymen uproot the garden?”

Musing 12: It was definitely weird seeing Barack Obama and Donald Trump seem to get along at Jimmy Carter’s funeral. And, truly, I’m not sure how to feel about it. Should Obama receive credit for grace? Or scorn for normalizing Hitler II: Electric Boogaloo? I’m not sure.

Musing 13: That said, this—from journalist Tim Ghianni—was lovely …

Musing 14: So after Notre Dame’s win over Penn State last night, Irish quarterback Riley Leonard said, “‘I just trusted in the Lord. I looked up and said, Jesus, whatever Your will is for my life, I trust it 100 percent.’” And the Internet celebrated Leonard for this, as it always does. But … I just have to say: With California burning, and thousands upon thousands of lives being ruined, why has God taken such an interest in football?

Musing 15: The new Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Jonathan Feigen, recently retired Houston Chronicle Rockets beat writer.

Quote of the Week …

1. OK, this never happened. So?