When Kenyon Martin hits the ground the place erupts. The hedge fund managers and venture capitalists and Broadway producers go bananas, whooping, stretching out their arms, high-fiving strangers in nearby expensive seats. Kenyon Martin, on the ground, moves towards them, shouts something. Shouts it up to the rafters. His teammates on the bench leap and yelp, wave towels. Marv Albert, at the broadcast table, is hung up between the first and second syllables of the word “rejected.” Spike Lee approves.
— Kenyon Martin, In Midair, Talking by Andrew Forbes
“The odd thing about our fair city is the animosity between the two franchises’ fanbases. This is not to say that there aren’t others like myself that cheer for both teams equally and are feeling the strain of cheering for two (potentially) successful teams. However, there has been a noticeable increase in a divide between the two franchises. In St. Louis, for example, the Cardinals’ Twitter account sent congratulations to the Blues for clinching a playoff spot. The Blues, conversely, sent condolences on the passing of Cardinals great Stan Musial. No such congratulations were sent the Leafs’ way (it should be noted that this only extends to the franchises themselves, the players of the respective teams have been much more vocal and cross-sport appreciating). This has extended to the fans at games as well. At a recent Jays game a fan was kicked out of the stadium for attempting to start a “Kadri’s better” chant as well as the standard “go Leafs go” as the Jays were losing once again. There were countless “let’s go Blue Jays” chants at Leaf games earlier in the season when the team was struggling as well.”
— Birdwatching: The Duality of the Toronto Thing by Jake Goldsbie
“It was a public assembly, and proof that (despite the city’s numerous religious venues) Fenway is Boston’s present-day cathedral. After 101 years, in which memories and loyalty have been handed down for decades, the park has grown into a place of worship, its very walls and stories sparking mass veneration. For many Bostonians and New Englanders, this was the best place for comfort and stability to be found. After all, what is more comforting, in its recollection of summers past, than green grass and sunshine? In Fenway, then, the normal could be remembered once again.”
— Slowly Remembering What’s Normal by Alex Skillin
“On Marathon Monday I posted a picture on Instagram taken from the overpass on the bridge at the intersection of Massachusetts and Commonwealth Avenues. It shows a group of determined runners, their backs to the camera, hoofing it up hill toward Copley Plaza under a beautiful blue sky with the Hancock Tower framed in the upper right hand corner of the photo. Two minutes before posting the photo I had stood near Newbury Street and watched a crowd of thousands erupt into joyous applause as a runner lifted his hands to pump up the crowd and then spontaneously did a perfect cartwheel. My caption reads: “The best day of the year in Boston. A dude just did a cartwheel two blocks from the finish line.” It was 1:15 p.m.”
— Once More, More Than a Game by David Tanklefsky
I have a set of daggers for farmland made sacred,
towns obsessed with the exploits of their children,
cities powerless to pour gasoline on wheat fields
of retrogress, blaming the horse for her broken fetlock—
I celebrate the jockey who says, Shoot me too.
I was the one riding her. He locked on her teary eye,
second-thought, took his option to carry on. So he lied.
She trusted him. How quickly he stopped being my hero.
— Steubenville by David Brock
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