Jenkins' Semi-Memoir

[Riptide]

It will be great to read the real-life stories that Jenkins parodied in "You Gotta Play Hurt." Especially if he doesn't pull his punches. And I'd I'd have to guess Jenkins won't be pulling punches.

 

[Rhody31]

Still, in my humble opinion, the greatest weekly magazine gamer in history.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1085606/index.htm

If they ever had an APSE for best paragraph, this, from Jenkins' story, would be the all-time winner:

"It was one of those insanely thrilling things in which a single player, seized by the moment, twists, whirls, slips, holds his balance and, sprinting, makes it all the way to the goal line. Rodgers went 72 yards for the touchdown, one which keeps growing larger in the minds of all. And afterward, back on the Nebraska bench, he did what most everybody in Norman, Okla. probably felt like doing: he threw up."

That is so good. So good.
I love Jenkins during the Majors. His tweets are a must follow.
And he definitely doesn't use them in his copy the next day.

 

[inkstainedwretch2]

Next up on the reading list. When he was on his game, he never wrote a bad sentence.

He can be forgiven for his worship of Hogan. We all had our heroes.

Alan Page was the greatest player to put on shoulder pads. I will not argue that.

"Jack Nicklaus, comma ... "

 

[pressboxer]

Quite possibly the greatest paragraph ever written:

Here's how I want the phony little conniving, no-talent, preppiewad asshole of an editor to die: I lace his decaf with Seconal and strap him down in such a way that his head is fastened to my desk and I thump him at cheery intervals with the carriage on my Olympia standard. I'm a stubborn guy who still works on a geezer-codger manual anyhow, so I write a paragraph I admire, the kind he likes to deck around with, especially if it's my lead, then I slip the carriage at him, and whack -- he gets it in the temple, sometimes the ear. Yeah, it would be slow, but death by typewriter is what the forkhead deserves."

 

[Riptide]

Quite possibly the greatest paragraph ever written:

Here's how I want the phony little conniving, no-talent, preppiewad asshole of an editor to die: I lace his decaf with Seconal and strap him down in such a way that his head is fastened to my desk and I thump him at cheery intervals with the carriage on my Olympia standard. I'm a stubborn guy who still works on a geezer-codger manual anyhow, so I write a paragraph I admire, the kind he likes to deck around with, especially if it's my lead, then I slip the carriage at him, and whack -- he gets it in the temple, sometimes the ear. Yeah, it would be slow, but death by typewriter is what the forkhead deserves."

Actually, that paragraph sucks. Jenkins is not at his best when he rips editors.

 

[joe]

Next up on the reading list. When he was on his game, he never wrote a bad sentence.

He can be forgiven for his worship of Hogan. We all had our heroes.

Alan Page was the greatest player to put on shoulder pads. I will not argue that.

"Jack Nicklaus, comma ... "

That's "Joe Montana, comma ..." but it works for Jack, too.

My favorite part is Jim Tom wanting to buy a glass bottom car so he can see the look on the guy's face when he runs him down.

 

[Versatile]

Lol @ disliking Dan Jenkins.

 

[Riptide]

Lol @ disliking Dan Jenkins.

I like Jenkins. But writers shouldn't rip editors.

 

[Versatile]

I was referring to the OP.

 

[Boom_70]

Fox News "the only news program network that doesn't seem to hate America" / Dan Jenkins

 

[Moderator1]

Bought it yesterday. Jenkins' speech at the Red Smith Award lunch last year was classic. Unfiltered. Had a crack about Florida being shaped like a penis. Several students in the room had never heard of him and they were in awe when he was done.

 

[H.L. Mencken]

One of the greatest ledes in the history of SI:


Stoop-Shouldered and sinisterly handsome, he slouches against the wall of the saloon, a filter cigarette in his teeth, collar open, perfectly happy and self-assured, gazing through the uneven darkness to sort out the winners from the losers. As the girls come by wearing their miniskirts, net stockings, big false eyelashes, long pressed hair and soulless expressions, he grins approvingly and says, "Hey, hold it, man—foxes." It is Joe Willie Namath at play. Relaxing. Night-timing. The boss mover studying the defensive tendencies of New York's off-duty secretaries, stewardesses, dancers, nurses, Playboy bunnies, actresses, shopgirls—all of the people who make life stimulating for a bachelor who can throw one of the best passes in pro football. He poses a question for us all: Would you rather be young, single, rich, famous, talented and happy—or president?