Dear David,

What the fuck exactly is your problem?

You write three brilliant works of fiction--including quite possibly my favorite novel of all time, Jernigan--and then just disappear. It's been almost six years now since you've released anything noteworthy. And I've scoured the web and can't locate any evidence that you've got something in the works. What gives?

I know you got divorced again. And sure, I know you regularly pop up in The New York Times Book Review (including that fun evisceration of William Boyd; although personally I like Boyd) and Newsweek. And yeah, I realize there are those collections to edit and classes to teach.

But I want some god-damned fiction. Philip Roth is 127 years old and he still manages to churn out a brilliant novel annually. What gives Gates?

It's possible you don't remember me. We first met at a book fair in Miami. You kindly signed my copy of Wonders of the Invisible World. I unsuccessfully attempted to provoke you into a debate about John Prine's recently released duet collection, In Spite of Ourselves, which you'd savaged in Newsweek. (In retrospect, I think you may have been right about that Prine album. It hasn't worn well. I seldom listen to it.)

Then a year or so later I was sitting at the bar in the old Table of Contents restaurant in St. Paul drinking wine and eating soup and re-reading Jernigan and you plopped down on the stool next to me. What a coincidence! (Although I guess you were about to give a reading at the attached bookstore.)

I sheepishly showed you my well-creased copy of the book and we engaged in plesant conversation for five minutes or so. If memory serves, I even told you that I was a reporter and that I had written the cover story in that week's City Pages (my first ever) and that you should check it out. Did you ever get a chance to read the story? It's not altogether awful.

Anyhow, hopefully we can catch up in the near future. But in the meantime, write some fucking fiction!

Sincerely,

Paul

In case anyone is inexplicably interested in my random thoughts concerning Sunday's match ...

Certainly a disappointing result. It could have been worse. The U.S. defense was miserable throughout the game, loose and indecisive. Oguchi Onyewu and Greg Berhalter in central defense is a tandem I hope to never witness again.

I thought Kasey Keller was somewhat to blame on the first goal, though, being as he appeared to be tangled in the back of the net at the moment that the ball crossed the line. Keller more than redeemed himself in the second half, coming up with at least three big-time saves that kept the game from being a complete ass-whooping.

Give the Mexicans credit. With the exception of a 15-minute period at the start of the second half they controlled the game. Prior to kick-off there was all kinds of talk about how the Americans had gotten into the heads of their southern neighbors. But after Eddie Lewis' fabulous goal, when it would have been easy for the Mexicans to wilt psychologically, they instead began playing with renewed vigor and intelligence. The U.S. never had another decent scoring opportunity.

I'm completely befuddled by Bruce Arena's coaching decisions. Starting EJ up top by himself was a failure. He was constantly surrounded by defenders and ineffective. The absence of Corey Gibbs from the central defense was inexplicable. He must have some unreported illness, like ebola. None of the subs used by the U.S. provided any kind of spark. Why no Josh Wolff or Clint Dempsey or Clint Mathis (who didn't even make the gameday roster)?

Bruce taps Pablo Mastroeni as man of the match. I can't disagree. He was tenacious and smart, tackling hard without fouling unnecessarily or getting involved in spats. Steve Cherundolo and Lewis also played extremely well. DaMarcus Beasley deserves credit for tirelessly tracking back on defense (as he always does) and breaking up several Mexican scoring threats, but he was a non-factor offensively.

All I can figure is that Arena didn't really give a shit about winning this match. For all the symbolic weight of the contest, as far as he's concerned it's just another World Cup qualifier. So the squad lost to Mexico at Azteca? So will every other team in the qualifying group. The key is to get three points on Wednesday at home against Guatemala.

My former colleague Sean Rowe sent along these pictures this morning:

And this note:

The fellow in the pictures is Larry Earley, He lives about 30 miles from Orlando, in the very rural community of Okahumpka, just off the Florida turnpike in Lake County, Florida. He has 20 acres of land and on  it, a few cows and horses. Mostly it's pasture land that is fenced with  woods surrounding him.

He is neighbored by a larger cattle ranch.

His neighbor has complained for several years that wild hogs had been raiding his cattle feeders and salt licks.

Last month he saw what he thought was a cow in his pond and went  to see if it was stuck in the mud and would have to be pulled out. When he  got close enough to realize it was hog, the thing made a charge at him. He had driven his truck down to the pond and carries a pistol in it (as any Florida redneck would, and I say that with genuine affection). He got his handgun and when it came at him again, he shot it twice and killed it.

Wild hogs in Florida usually run from 100-400 pounds with a 400 pounder being a monster. Because this one had been feasting on grain for several years it had grown to mammoth size. When Larry took it to the processor it weighed in at over 1100 pounds! The meat has no wild taste, as it was grain feed and the Larry  is quite the hero. He has fed many fireman and provided the homeless shelter in downtown Orlando with a couple of meals.

Last night on American Routes, Nick Spitzer played Steve Goodman's version of "Easter Parade." It made me ridiculously happy and caused me to spend the whole night listening to his albums. I've long been a Goodman fanatic. He was an absolute beast of a guitar player, picking out rhythm and melody with a gleeful fervor that constantly threatens to run off the rails.

None of his studio albums quite capture Goodman's genius. There's a gloss to the production on many of the recordings that dilutes his quirky charms. Fortunately, since Goodman's untimely death from leukemia in 1984 there has been a slew of live material released, starting with the indispensable anthology No Big Surprise, which contains a disc each of live and studio material.

"Easter Parade" is from another posthumous collection dubbed The Easter Tapes. It's a mash-up of four Easter radio shows that Goodman recorded with New York radio icon Vin Scelsa. Frankly the Scelsa banter can be quite annoying (ditto for his ponderous liner notes), but Goodman's frenetic acoustic guitar work and half-ass vocals are completely beguiling. It opens with a warp-speed, virtuoso version of "Red Red Robin" and contains charming renditions of Goodman classics like "Banana Republics" and "City of New Orleans." His mad-cap dismantling of William Mayhew's "It's A Sin To Tell A Lie" (one of the greatest songs ever written as far as I'm concerned) is exhilarating.

But my favorite moment is near the close of the album when Scelsa challenges him to play "Splish Splash." With David Amram joining in on the bongos and tin whistle, Goodman gamely strums out a skewed version of that retarded Bobby Darin chestnut.

I know there's Jesus Juice to drink and everything, but another sacred event will occur this Sunday: U.S. v. Mexico. The World Cup qualifying match takes place at Mexico City's infamous Estadio Azteca. Here are the vital statistics:


Estadio Azteca is located 7,200 smog-polluted feet above sea level and seats some 115,000 people.

Mexico has lost just once ever at Azteca in 40 years; the U.S. has never won there.

Overall the Mexicans have dominated the Americans, boasting a 28-11-10 record.

Between 1937 and 1980, the U.S. failed to beat Mexico in 24 straight contests.

Recently the trend has been reversed, with the U.S. posting a 6-1-1 record in the last eight matches.

The Americans are riding a 16-game unbeaten streak, outscoring their opponents 32-8 in that span.

Mexico is currently 6th in the FIFA world rankings; the U.S. is 10th.


The dimensions of this match have been ably covered elsewhere. But as usual, Sports Illustrated's Grant Wahl has the definitive piece. It's not available on-line unless you're a subscriber, but here's the money graf:


This is going to be a brutal, nasty, physical game. There might not be a lot of pretty soccer on display. But it will be spectacular.

Kickoff is noon Sunday. Folks will be gathering locally at The Liffey in downtown St. Paul to take in the match.

I just finished reading David Foster Wallace's fascinating piece on political talk radio in the current Atlantic Monthly. Unfortunately the article's not available on-line unless you're a subscriber. It's quite smart and authoritative (and not surprisingly, outrageously annotated).

He focuses in on a poli-shock jock named John Ziegler who works for Southern L.A. talk-radio powerhouse KFI. As best I can tell from the piece, this guy's a first-rate bloviator who suffers from severe narcissism. This latter condition manifests itself on-air by the host constantly seeking to outrage his traffic-stressed listeners into apoplexy, consequentially resulting in somewhat stimulating host-caller dialogues. In other words, Ziegler's a fairly typical talk-radio specimen. Probably the best local analogy is KSTP morning host Bob Davis (who for pathological reasons best left unexplored I wake up to every morning). Wallace adeptly uses this prototype to explore the wider phenomenon of political talk radio.

But I was struck by one of Wallace's digressions relating to advertising:

Now what caught my attention about this excerpt is a recurring segment I've noticed locally on the Ron Rosenbaum & Mark O'Connell Show (of which I'm generally a huge fan). They seem to have taken this corporate whoring to a whole new extreme. Every Wednesday morning during the show they devote an entire segment to speaking with the proprietor of Abbot Travel. The hosts simply ask Mr. Abbot Travel (I can't recall his name right now) to reveal all the incredible deals that his company's currently offering to snow-suffering Minnesotans. There's no attempt at editorial justification. Just a roughly-ten-minute Q & A in which the guy gets to unapologetically shill for his company. It's nothing but a very lengthy commercial segment masquerading as user-friendly news.

I'm not pretending that talk-radio is anything but a money-making venture designed to generate profits for the corporations that own stations. But this strikes me as a particularly shameless manifestation of the phenomenon.

Exactly how much does Abbot Travel pay for this privilege? And why would anyone (other than talk-radio obsessed losers like me) listen?

The Champions League quarterfinal draws were held today. Most interestingly Juventus will square off against Liverpool. The matches will take place almost 20 years to the date when 39 Juventus supporters were crushed to death at Heysel stadium in Brussells. Not surprisingly some fans are already promising violence.

Pele is writing an autobiography. It's due out prior to next year's World Cup. I'm guessing it will be deadly dull.

Apparently there's a new U.S. soccer magazine, Striker.

The U.S. plays a friendly against Honduras tomorrow. It's a tune-up for the team's big throwdown with Mexico eight days later. As usual folks will be gathering at The Local in Minneapolis to watch. Kickoff is 3 p.m.

The Indomitable Drinky Crows bowed out of the playoffs last Sunday, losing on penalty kicks. Sadly this confirms my suspicions about the inverse causal relationship between my presence on the field and the team's level of success. I did, however, make my PK. Our record is now 4-2-2. We've got one more game and then no soccer until May.

Mark has compiled a list of his favorite Jacksons. It's quite excellent. But there is one glaring omission: Brenda Jackson

Given my incredible track record of prognosticative success I'd be remiss if I didn't weigh in on the NCAA basketball tournament.

Tragically my beloved Maryland Terrapins, for the first time in a decade, are not in the tournament. (But boy did they put an ass-whoopin' on Oral Roberts last night! Take that Michele Bachman!) I don't know what happened to that team. They beat Duke twice, but lost to Clemson three times. I don't think any team has ever lost three times to Clemson in the same season. Maybe not in the same decade. What gives John Gilchrist?

Since I can't pick Maryland to win the tournament (as I've done every other year), what does that leave? Frankly I haven't been paying that much attention. How the fuck is Washington a number one seed? Why on earth are North Carolina, Florida, Kansas, and Connecticut in the same region?

But this much I can say: North Carolina and Illinois are clearly the most talented teams in the tournament.

And: Oklahoma State will win it all. I love John Lucas. He reminds me of the great Juan Dixon.

How does a Serb-Croat riot break out at a soccer match in Sydney, Australia? I've no idea. But it happened:

Officers were called to an oval at Edensor Park around 3pm AEDT yesterday to help settle a brawl which broke out before a match between the Croatian-backed Sydney United and Bonnyrigg White Eagles, who draw many of their fans from the Serbian community.

Separated by a fence, up to 50 fans threw flares and cans at each other, shouting abuse and waving Serbian and Croatian flags. Two police officers were injured.

Then again, these folks also apparently riot over handball.