The Yang Slinger: Vol. LXXII

You're an author. You understand the highs and lows of the writing process. So is it OK to review the books of other authors? How about to bash the books of other authors?

Back in the lord’s year of 1993, I penned a book review for my student newspaper at the University of Delaware.

The subject was “Mary Ann's Gilligan's Island Cookbook,” written by Dawn Wells (the actress who played Mary Ann on the mid-1960s CBS sitcom) and two ghost scribes named Ken Beck and Jim Clark. And the product was basically a collection of Wells’ recipes, alongside cute behind-the-scenes stories from one of America’s best-known sitcoms. The whole thing was created with a lot of wink-wink, nudge-nudge. Like, you can take this seriously if you really want to, but in reality it’s a goofy cookbook that you should have some fun with.

I eviscerated the motherfucker.

At The Review, we graded everything. I gave the book an F-. I called it inane and useless and garbage and dumb. The headline, I believe, was MARY ANN’S GILLIGAN’S ISLAND COOKBOOK IS JUST PLAIN STUPID.

And here’s the crazy part. The truly crazy part: Beck, one of the two ghost writers, gave me the book as a gift toward the end of my summer internship at The Tennessean, where he worked. Ken was a wonderful man who probably wanted to inspire me by showing that authorship is within reach. He probably wanted to say, “Look, kid! Look what we can do with the pen!”

Agin, I e-v-i-s-c-e-r-a-t-e-d the motherfucker.

Why? Because I could. Because I thought dogging shit was fun. Because I was a cowardly asshole who knew Ken Beck wasn’t a reader of the Delaware student newspaper. Because I wanted folks to know I meant business.

Because … I was a dick.

That was three decades ago. And as I sit here, 51 and the author of 10 books, I look back at my approach to “Mary Ann's Gilligan's Island Cookbook” with tremendous shame. Part of that is acknowledging that, at 21, I was a fairly awful person who craved attention at all costs. But a bigger part of that is coming to understand how much sweat and dirt and pain and time and heart and anguish and equity go into authoring a book.

Which is to say: Writing a book takes something out of you. I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic or romantic—but it does. When I begin a book, I’m peppy and excited. I’m itching to go. I’m thrilled by the prospect of uncovering new details, of journeying to far-off places. And when I wrap a book, I’m a wedge of fermented dog shit submerged in a milky puddle on the corner of 15th and Third. I can’t move. I can’t think. I hate every … single … word, and never want to think about the ‘86 Mets or Brett Favre or Tupac Shakur again.

And one of the offshoots of the book-writing experience is that—when all is done and your body is weak and your mind is empty—a negative book review destroys you. For example, on April 5, 2009, a site called Tomato Nation published a review of my Roger Clemens biography, “The Rocket That Fell to Earth.” I probably found it by Googling myself¹ because that’s what idiots do. And the story, headlined, “SERIOUSLY, WAS ANYBODY EDITING THIS THING?” and written by Sarah D. Bunting², carved me up.

Here’s the opening …

Now, first, to be clear—Sarah D. Bunting was correct. The book blows.

And second, Bunting had every right to kill the book. Maybe even an editorial obligation.

But, third, that review genuinely hurt. Still hurts. Obviously, it does, because 14 years later I remember it word for word, and I can barely remember where I left my car keys.

What it also did, however, was cause me to reevaluate whether I should be writing book reviews. Because, up until that point, on occasion I would be called by Newsday or ESPN.com or … whoever, to read X book and write Y review. And I would do so, mainly because it’d pay $500 (or so) while landing me a new, just-off-the-presses read.

But it no longer felt right.

A few weeks ago, Will Leitch—a truly nice dude and one of the best writers out here—reviewed two books for the Wall Street Journal: “Magic: The Life of Earvin ‘Magic’ Johnson” by Roland Lazenby and “Jumpman: The Making and Meaning of Michael Jordan” by Johnny Smith.

He cared for neither one.

The piece, which initially ran on Nov. 17, wasn’t harsh. Will clearly points out positives, doesn’t seek out small negatives, leans toward what the writers do well over what the writers do poorly.

Of Smith’s work, Will writes: “The problem with Mr. Smith’s approach, as rich as it occasionally can be, is that Mr. Jordan has said so little about the topic if race throughout his career that there is only so much ore to mine. Mr. Smith attempts to pad his narrative by tying his thesis to an account of Mr. Jordan’s quest for his first NBA title in 1991, but the link is tenuous.”

And of the Magic bio, Will offers: “Once we get to the Lakers, Mr. Lazenby bogs down into the minutiae of individual games and matchups, writing not breezily but windily—it’s a little bit like listening to the guy on the next barstool try to describe, in exhausting detail, a game he saw many decades ago that you didn’t, but he really wishes you had.”

Yet even though both breakdowns were anything but vicious, as I read the reviews I found myself thinking, “Is this weird for Will?” And what I mean is, as the author of six books, does Will at all feel uncomfortable/strange/cautious/conflicted criticizing books others have written?

Does it make him feel shitty?

So I asked.

“I am appreciative of how hard it is to write a book: It is impressive that any of them get made, by anyone, ever,” Will texted me. “But that has to be baked in and understood as the bare minimum of any book review, the equivalent of getting your name right on the ACTs. If I’m writing a review with a ton of worry about what the author would think, or what other writers would think, I’m not doing the job I’ve been hired to do. I’m not there to balance the difficulties of writing a book with the finished product. I’m there to write about the finished product.

“If I’m being actively mean, well, then I’m just a jerk—I’m not doing the reader a service there either. But the notion that I’m supposed to somehow grade a book on a curve because I know how hard it is to write one is absurd. The average reader doesn’t know, or care, about that. So I shouldn’t either.”

I can’t argue any of the points. Will is right. Being an author comes with the understanding your work will be analyzed and—oftentimes—criticized. And, no doubt, the reader gives two shits about the reviewer’s history or background. And it’s certainly not wrong (in any sense of the word) to review books as an author. Fuck, to criticize books as an author.

Is. Not. Wrong.

I mean, I dump on movies all the time. Not just to my wife and kids, but on Twitter. On Facebook. I’ll dump on TV shows, too. That was boring. That went on way too long. That actor really missed the mark. Name a medium, I’ve spewed plenty negative. I’m no better than anyone else.

And yet … I dunno. The longer I do this, the more I feel an unspoken bond with other authors. It’s nothing tangible, or even particularly describable. It may well be a fictional worm rummaging through my brain following too many Peanut M&Ms. But when I meet an author, and that person describes, oh, the fruitless search for the tiniest detail, or whines about an editor who inserted commas after every seventh word—I feel it. In a very raw, real, painful manner. Which then makes me incredibly uncomfortable when it comes time to poop on the very work they fought to complete.

In this, I am not alone.

“I used to [review books], but mostly stopped precisely because of those conflicted feelings,” says David Maraniss, the author of 8,654,322 books—including the brilliant, “Path Lit by Lightning: The Life of Jim Thorpe.” “If it's a fellow author who clearly has put in the effort, I don't feel comfortable offering a public critique and yet know I have to be honest with the readers. I just didn't like those cross purposes. I have no problems assessing a manuscript in private if the author asks, and I try to support authors with blurbs ... again and especially if I can see the effort they put into it. I also decided I should no longer review a book on a subject about which I've written. My expertise on the subject in those cases could seem overtaken by personal bias. The only exception being if it's a book by a politician or a ghost-written faux book—those I have no qualms about.”

Adds David Jordan, co-author of “Cobra: A Life of Baseball and Brotherhood”: “If a publication asked me to write a review for a book that I appreciated and respected, I might do it. Conversely, if I felt that a book that I was requested to review was fundamentally flawed, I might pull the publicist or editor friend aside and be like, ‘What were you guys thinking with this?’ Ultimately, I’m not in the business of shitting on the last 22 months of an author’s life.

“I believe that people want to like the books that they buy. Hate-reading magazine articles exists, hate-watching television programs exists. I don’t believe that people by and large spend $25 on a hardcover book to search out typos, spelling mistakes and egregious factual errors. As an author, I don’t think it’s my role to play grammar cop or be the ‘Actually, that happened in 1987, not 1988’ guy.”

Amy Bass, my friend and author of the terrific, “One Goal: A Coach, a Team, and the Game That Brought a Divided Town Together,” spends much of her life in academia. She says of book reviewing—“I hate it. My single least favorite thing to do.” And yet, she acknowledges that “professor types” are required to review publications, including blind article and manuscript reviews. So … when she sits down before a book she is required to review, Amy takes a deep breath, dreads her place in society … and seeks out the positive.

“My MO every time is to embrace something—anything—and try to figure out what the writer was trying to do,” she says. “And then see if they did it.”

Has she ever shit on another’s work?

“Nope,” she says. “Never. Close. But never.”

Alas, Amy Bass is a better person than I’ll ever be. And somewhere on that big tropical island in the sky, where the coconut juice is cold and Curley Neal is dribbling through the legs of an overmatched robot, Dawn Wells is smiling down upon her.

Baking a pie from a recipe out of her shitty wonderful book.

The Quaz Five with … Jimmie Tramel

Jimmie Tramel covers pop culture for the Tulsa World. One can follow him on Xitter here. He is the man.

1. OK, Jimmie, along with all the interesting moments in a long career, you co-authored a book with the wild, wacky Barry Switzer. What was THAT like?: Switzer had already written a great autobiography with Bud Shrake titled “Bootlegger’s Boy.” I was asked to write a book about Switzer for my employer, which was dipping its toe into the book business and wanted a subject who would move books. In Oklahoma, Switzer is a name that can move books. Full disclosure: Switzer had something that prevented him from being a participant in the writing of the book, so I wrote it by talking to many former players and others who know him well. Switzer offered to read the finished manuscript for accuracy purposes -- which he did, without attempting to veto content. If you’re not familiar with the Switzer story, he’s the opposite of “born on third base and thinks he hit a triple.” His father was imprisoned for bootlegging. His mother committed suicide when he was young. That’s a lot of baggage, but he rose above it all to win national championships and a Super Bowl. Along the way, he became the ultimate players’ coach. If you played for him, he’s got your back for life.

2. You’ve been at the Tulsa World for more than three decades. Base-level question in this age of media uncertainty: How?: As far as the Tulsa World keeping me around that long, I would like to think it’s because I’m not high-maintenance and I’m not opposed to being productive. In terms of why I stayed at one place for so long, it’s home. I grew up less an hour from Tulsa and have accumulated lifelong Oklahoma intel that would have zero value if I worked elsewhere. I can tell you why Sam Kinison is buried in Tulsa and how, before Troy Aikman came along, the most famous people from Henryetta, Oklahoma, were rodeo champ Jim Shoulders and Alice Ghostley from “Bewitched” and “Designing Women.”

3. I’ve always been pretty meh on Tulsa, but maybe I’m missing something. What am I missing?: Without veering into the Tulsa vs. Oklahoma City rivalry, I would say Tulsa is more artsy and OKC is more sportsy (Thunder, etc). Early oilmen in Tulsa invested in museums and art deco architecture. Tulsa has a history-drenched and iconic music venue in Cain’s Ballroom, where Sid Vicious of the Sex Pistols once punched a hole in the wall. Tulsa is more of a music city that folks might suspect. The Bob Dylan Archives found a home here. Leon Russell’s Church Studio once was a magnet for musicians from all over the world. Eric Clapton found his groove by populating his band with “Tulsa Sound” music figures. It’s cool that the careers of Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, C. Thomas Howell, Tom Cruise and Emilio Estevez were sort of launched when Francis Ford Coppola filmed “The Outsiders” in Tulsa. And, although we don’t have mountains or an ocean in Tulsa, we make up for it with our food. Now I’m hungry.

4. A decade ago you went from sports to covering pop culture? How? Why? And are you fully aboard the Taylor Swift express?: My kids were of a certain age when I made the change. I had to decide if I wanted to spend Saturdays in stadiums and arenas or if I wanted to be around them a little more while I still had the chance. There were other factors, but that was the big one. And I didn’t completely turn my back on sports. I watch as many games as ever, but I watch the games I want to watch instead of the games I have to watch. People have asked me the difference in covering sports and entertainment. Almost everyone I interview in the entertainment field is in a good mood when I talk to them because they want to put their best face forward when “selling” a new show, movie or tour stop. FYI, I’ve interviewed big-time sports figures, but I’ve never been more nervous before an interview than when I was on hold for William Shatner. I couldn’t stomach the possibility of the interview going south and Captain Kirk thinking I was a nut, or worse. It went fine. Whew! I’m OK with the Taylor Swift express. She’s bringing new fans to the NFL. But I prefer Neil Diamond and Eddie Money.

5. Do print newspapers still matter? Why/why not?: Print absolutely matters, for a million reasons, but mostly for creating more well-informed human beings. Pick up a newspaper and you can be exposed to everything going on in your community and not just specialized topics you might search for on the web. I wish we could get newspapers in every middle school to launch a grass-roots revival.

Bonus (rank in order—favorite to least): Mitch Richmond, Bleacher Report, iPhone 12, poodles, Frank Sinatra, kindness, New Edition, Craig's List: Let’s go with kindness at the top, because the Golden Rule is undefeated. Next is Frank Sinatra, and I highly recommend “Laugh In” creator George Schlatter’s book for great Sinatra stories. I recall, pre-TMC, Mitch Richmond taking Kansas State to an Elite Eight and his career overlapped with Norris Coleman, an “older” Army vet who led the Big Eight in scoring. Then let’s go with Bleacher Report, New Edition, Craig’s List, iPhone 12 (I’m always a few versions behind on phones) and poodles.

Ask Jeff Pearlman a fucking question(s)

From Coop: Who is your favorite Laker of all the different players you’ve written about in the two books? I love this question, because one might assume I’d go with Magic or Kareem, James Worthy or Kobe Bryant or Shaq. But, truly, the dude I cherish is Earl Jones, the team’s first-round draft choice way back in 1984.

Jones played collegiately at a Division II program, the University of the District of Columbia, and was a three-time All-American and a two-time Division II Player of the Year. Jerry West took a shot on him with the 23rd overall pick because—as he used to say—”If you’re gonna make a mistake, make a tall mistake.”

Jone was a mistake. A 7-foot-1 mistake.

Earl arrived in Los Angeles having never before gone to a dentist, and his teeth were yellow and rotting. He was blessed with overconfidence (“I dominated Kareem,” he told me), but … eh, couldn’t hang. Before long, Magic was deliberately throwing no-look passes off of Jones’ head, just to humiliate the kid. One of my favorite “Showtime” stories involves Jones watching Kurt Rambis sniff his own jock, turning to a teammate and saying, deadpan, “That white boy be crazy.”

When I tracked down Earl Jones, he was working as West Virginia’s tallest used car salesman.

A random old article worth revisiting …

July 15, 1949 was a busy day in Gastonia, N.C.—at least you’d think so after reading these back-to-back riveting pieces from the Gastonia Gazette …

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.

Over the past few weeks I’ve often discussed the grid with Tyler Kepner, the Athletic baseball writer. And now, for kicks, every week I’m gonna feature one of Tyler’s bonkers grid results. He’s the ultimate baseball geek (I say this with great affection), and his outputs blow my mind.

So …

Tyler observations:

The best part of this one is that I saw Ken Hill later that day at the winter meetings. I covered him with the 1997-98 Angels and it was good to catch up.

Norberto Martin was also on that team, and I covered White and Tyner with the 2000 Mets.

Borland (and White) are legends of The Relief Room, a shrine to Phillies relief pitchers in the bathroom of a fan named Matt Edwards in suburban Philadelphia. Wrote a story on it once and I’ve become friends with Matt.

Rafael Quirico pitched one game for a terrible 1996 Phillies team and lost badly to the Reds. Fun name that I’ve always remembered.

Bonds I was just looking up recently for something I was doing on 30/30 seasons. And Miguel Dilone was a memorable name from when I first started following baseball in the early 1980s.

This week’s college writer you should follow on Xitter …

Sofia De la Espriella, Florida Atlantic University

The news editor of the University Press, De la Espriella covered George W. Bush’s recent visit to campus and wrote a wonderful, informed piece, headlined, GEORGE W. BUSH VISITS FAU, SPEAKS ON FOREIGN CONFLICTS, 2024 ELECTION.

Wrote Sofia …

One can follow Sofia on Xitter here. Bravo, kid …

Journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: The writer Kevin Damask recently decided to stop subscribing to Sports Illustrated, and the resulting Substack piece—I ENDED A 25-YEAR RELATIONSHIP THIS WEEK WITH SOMETHING I LOVED DEARLY—is legitimately crushing. But, man, it’s well written and profound.

Musing 2: I stopped in a used bookstore recently and—for reasons that continue to elude me—I purchased “Bogart: In Search of My Father,” a memoir written by Stephen Bogart, son of the late actor Humphrey Bogart. And it’s a really illuminating look at an iconic Hollywood figure who died in his late 50s and never revealed a whole lot of himself.

Musing 3: CNN announced a few days ago that they’ll be hosting two more Republican Presidential debates—one on Jan. 10, the other on Jan. 21. And … why? Seriously, why? Donald Trump will be the Republican nominee. It’s over. Done. So … what the fuck?

Musing 4: Deadspin’s Carron Phillips recently wrote an inexplicable piece on why race was surely the reason Titans quarterback Ryan Tannehill had supported Will Levis more than Malik Willis, and earlier this week he penned, THE DOG WHISTLES AROUND JALEN HURTS ARE SUBTLE, YET DEAFENING. The article zoomed in on Mike Sielski, Philadelphia Inquirer scribe, who recently wrote in a column that, “Hurts is admired and beloved here, but Brock Purdy would be a god in Philadelphia. A god.” And I’m not even arguing Phillips’ stance. I 100 percent agree that whites (gritty, hard-working, likable, underdog) and Blacks (natural, gifted, lazy, underachiever) are still perceived differently in media (and society). It’s gross. But … I dunno. How about calling Sielski? Calling David Carr? Or, when it came to the Titans, why not reach out to a beat writer? Someone with the team? I know we’re in a different press landscape than a decade ago, but a Deadspin editor (is there one) must say to their writers, “Listen, we’re fighting for cred. Do the legwork.”

Musing 5: Pretty funny/unsurprising piece in Variety about the actress Casey Wilson bodyslamming Tim Allen, RE: his behavior and conduct while filming “The Santa Clauses.” According to Wilson, working with Allen was “the truly single worst experience I’ve ever had with a co-star ever.”

Musing 6: Great column from the New York Times’ Michelle Cottle on Kevin McCarthy’s departure from Congress. Headlined, WAS IT WORTH IT, KEVIN MCCARTHY?, Cottle explores the pathetic nature of the disgraced former speaker.

Writes Cottle:

Musing 7: Chris Herring, the veteran basketball writer, recently departed SI.com for a return to ESPN—and I couldn’t be happier. Chris is one of the best in the business, and he left a crumbling empire for a place that knows what it has got in a superstar chronicler.

Musing 8: Van Jones with the perfect breakdown on Vivek Ramaswamy citing the “Great Replacement theory.”

Musing 9: J.D. Vance is obviously a tool, but if you believe in a free press, his suggestion that the Washington Post’s Robert Kagan should be criminally investigated is chilling. This Matthew Chapman Raw Story piece breaks down the madness.

Musing 10: The new Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Kacy Sager, Score Atlanta writer and daughter of the late Craig Sager.

Quote of the Week …

1. Don’t do it.

2. It turns out Sarah has done really well for herself. Which is great.