Dreams of Arcrimboldo
(c)2004 Jeremy Rosenberg

The canvas lay stretched out, almost yawning on the easel, as blindingly bright and white as teeth; as white as the frothy caps of waves crashing into the beaches of Fortune Island. Arcrimboldo, grasping his horsehair brush like a weapon, crept cautiously towards the canvas, then stopped, took a seat on his wrought iron stool , and laid the brush on the easel’s shelf.
What would he paint?
He gazed out through his window at Harley Meadow, wondering if the horse that had been sired by the horse who supplied his tail hairs for his paintbrush was currently romping through the meadow with a peasant boy running alongside. Or if that peasant boy’s father was the craftsman who had built the wooden frame and carefully stretched the canvas over it. Or if the fly that had been buzzing through his workshop five minutes earlier, the one that had briefly landed on the portrait of Lord Italo, the one he had been swatting at, had flown over to the meadow and was now buzzing around the boy and his father, and landed on the horse’s flank, where it was swatted at by the horse’s tail, which was long and strong like his father’s had been. Or if Lord Italo himself had passed by in a carriage with his wife and eldest daughter, and the peasant and the Lady had locked eyes and both remembered that she was his daughter, and not the Lord’s. Or if the peasant boy had seen Arcrimboldo’s previous painting hanging in the foyer of the town hall and had loved it so much, been so filled with awe at its beauty, that he had spent the previous few days riding through Harley Meadow on the horse, grappling with the idea of telling his father that he planned to become a painter himself, and not a canvasmaker. Or if – and Arcrimboldo had to squint into the distance, to see the thin strip of beach a few miles away – or if the horse was no longer on Harley Meadow but was part of something larger, perhaps a man, perhaps his shoulder, and that his hair was an ermine, his face was the dolphin now rising up out of the water; or if a million more creatures composed the man, even the fly, who gave up buzzing around Lord Italo’s carriage as it carted its passengers away, leaving the peasant to watch the Lady disappear into the sunset, and the fly became the pupil of the man’s eye; and if the man was kind and gentle, and Arcrimboldo didn’t know who he was but recognized his smile, and knew that the man was not a man at all but something else, but what was it? Was he art? Was he beauty? Was he love, like the love of the peasant for the Lady, like the love of the peasant’s son for the painting, like the love of the Lord’s eldest daughter for Arcrimboldo?
Arcrimboldo smiled, and picked up his brush.

Philadelphia, PA
8/8/03

JUNE 27, 2004 5:04 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA
Approximately one minute after wretched loss in Boston

Last Friday night I wrote this very long, very negative and shockingly depressing blog entry about how a week and a half earlier I had had this epiphany wherein, despite the Phillies being my favorite team, who I will always love unconditionally and will root for forever because they are in my blood and etched indelibly in my soul, I realized that I hate them. The gist was that I no longer derive any actual enjoyment from watching them because I hate how much I care whether they win or lose, and am continually dismayed and made neurotic and irritated by how profoundly disappointed I am in them at all times, even though I know full well that it's all completely meaningless and actually quite stupid. I'm just sick of the whole thing, but the fan in me (remember: in my blood, etched into soul etc.) won't let me give it up or even take a break longer than a day. It's a little sickening. No, I don't think I really mean it when I say that I hate them, but on the 17th I was watching their game against the Tigers and after they were unable to score with the bases loaded for like the 400,000th time this season, and then blowing a save, I abruptly left the room, announcing that I knew how this nonsense was going to end. A little later, this exchange occurred:

Andrew: You know, you may want to come watch, it's the bottom of the tenth and they have the bases loaded.
Jeremy: I hate them, I hate them so much.

Why did I say that? I have no idea. As it turned out, they didn't score, and went on to lose, because I hate them.

Giving up on your team is the worst thing a fan can do, I really believe that, but on the other hand I think this Being a Fan procedure has driven me a little insane and I need to take a break, a real one, and if that constitutes giving up on them, so be it.

Anyway, what I went on to say in that entry was that my frustration with the Phils is really just a manifestation of my frustration with a lot of personal life issues that have nothing to do with baseball, and I went on further to rant maniacally about what a horrible, lonely, talentless, worthless loser I am and various other depressing things of that ilk, things I don't actually necessarily believe but occasionally find myself thinking. I won't go into it because I don't really want to think such things on a regular basis, or at all, really, so I'm not going to rehash them again.

Well, what happened was that I had Internet trouble (i.e. Andrew shut off our Internet connection without realizing that I was doing blog-posting in the other room at the time) so I was unable to post it but I did manage to save it as Word file, and looking at it now it's dreadful self-pitying nonsense, and I thank Andrew for inadvertantly saving me from the cringing, lifelong embarrassment that posting it would have almost immediately brought me.

I've been in a better mood since then but the Baseball Team hasn't helped, looking godawful in both of their losses to the Red Sox. Sure, they looked fine in their win, but I can't get excited about it, no matter how much I try, because I have this terrible feeling that they just aren't very good. I realize that their inconsistency is partially due to injuries, and that thanks to general mediocrity on the part of their NL East neighbors they're still very much in the thick of it, but I haven't yet seen how they're any better than last year's team, and they didn't make the postseason, so how can I get excited? And that's just it, I don't want to be as annoyed as I am that they aren't good, because I have other things in my life to worry about. So I'm hereby announcing that starting now I am going to start worrying about them instead. I'm disappointed they didn't do better against the Sox, because I honestly thought we could hang with them, but the Phils need work, and I'll be off doing other things until they've figured that out.

I'm not giving up on them (in fact, I have tickets for Tuesday night), and I never will, but, yeah, I need to take a break and relax a little bit. And it's not just the Phils... I need to get my act together in general, because I'm a bit of a mess. Expect this blog to maybe go in another direction... who knows?

It'll be all right.

Go Phils!

JUNE 14, 2004 9:36 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA

A quick word. ESPN.com columnist and SI writer Ralph Wiley passed away last night, evidently. A few weeks ago in this space he was described as "annoying" and I regret that, dear reader(s). That was before, I think, I had really grasped his style: slangy but not lazy, conversational yet literary. He brought a much needed dose of creativity to sports writing; I suspect it's not easy to make games seem more important than they actually are, especially when the players are generally selfish clods who can't be bothered to understand why they get to do what they do or say anything more than "Yeah, we gotta take it one game at a time" fifteen times a week. Wiley figured it out, though. Figured out -- like I've spent much of my adult life trying to figure out -- that this stuff isn't a bunch of games, it's life, distilled down to a manageable three hours at a time. All the crazy ass stuff we have to put up with as a species, all that stuff we can't seem to ever understand -- politics, race, money, sex, more and more beyond that -- it's all there, in baseball, or basketball or whatever. Or more to the point, in the hearts and brains of the people playing it, and watching it. It's all in there. I think I'm starting to get that. Wiley knew.

He was, in short, a writer, the thing I want to be. I want it so bad, sometimes I can't even handle it. Right now, I'm just some guy. But maybe someday I'll be a writer, like Wiley.

His ESPN.com archive is here.

He was 52. Good lord, life is so very bizarre, isn't it?

JUNE 12, 2004 10:43 AM
PHILADELPHIA, PA
Watch out Marlins, we're coming for you

Oh, yeah, I lied. Told you I was gonna post more this week and that didn't happen... didn't even like kinda happen. Why? Well, it's like this... I've sort of been feeling like I need something else in my life... or more to the point, that whatever way I've got my life constructed isn't quite right and needs a shake-up of some kind. Specifically, though I adore baseball, there's no doubt about that, and I love the Phillies endlessly and unconditionally... well, I guess I've been sort of feeling lately like that's not enough. I don't know what it is but I haven't felt the passion for it that I've felt in the past. Undoubtedly the #1 reason for this is that Phils just really haven't been terribly impressive so far this year, and instead of me hanging on every game, instead of me voraciously scouring box scores and standings every morning, instead of getting excited about the Phils' various triumphs, no matter how small, instead of all that, I've felt little beyond a vague disgust and impatience. I'm sure this is just a phase, I really do. I'm sure the Phils will go on a hot streak and I'll be psyched again; I'm sure my current 1-3 record at the new park can't last. But lately I've felt like whenever I watch the games I should be clocking in, like it's not even terribly fun for me these days. The other day I was thinking about their bullpen while I was shaving; I'm going crazy. Maybe I need a break.

On the other hand, their current two game winning streak is kinda cool, and last night I came home late from a night out with Jon and Shep to discover that the Phils had won and the Marlins had lost, and we're just 1.5 games back. That's fairly exciting. I just hope the injuries and the rapidly collapsing pitching situation won't continue to be a huge problem.

Whatever; I'm not going to think about it. It's astonishingly beautiful outside so I'm going to go read a book in the park; later, friends.

JUNE 6, 2004 10:08 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA
music: Husker Du, Zen Arcade

A shout out to my fellow Bensalemite, S. Jones, for giving his all in the Belmont and falling just short. I never really bought into the idea that he would be bringing a championship to Philadelphia if he won the Triple Crown (it just wouldn't be the same, not unless he could also be employed to catch passes, score powerplay goals or protect a frigging four run lead) but it was disappointing nonetheless. But in another year or so when his career's over, he'll get put out to stud, so he's got nothing to complain about. Rock on, Smarty.

The Phils have been ridiculous lately. I could go over each and every game, but I don't feel like it. I attended last Wednesday's debacle against the Mets (NYM 5, PHI 3) and it was thoroughly soul-crushing. Why give up not one, but two demoralizing home runs to Todd Zeile? Why pitch to him at all? Why Todd Zeile? And is there anything more horrible than losing in your home park while there's tons of visiting fans of the road team around you? Oh, it sucks. And let me tell you this: I will be at Shea this summer, and I will have my revenge. This will not be forgotten, Mets fans.

The sporadic updates to this diary are due to my being distracted by other things, most notably the novel I claim to be writing, plus actual physical interaction with other humans occurring out here in realspace. So apologies to those who expect Philly sports updates at daily intervals... it shall resume, for real, I hope, on Tuesday, when the Phils kick off interleague festivities against your Chicago White Sox, who, I have decided, are my new favorite AL team. Why? 'Cause they're strange and foreign. I won't go off on a rant about Interleague Play, because I don't necessarily dislike it; my only complaint is that it's sort of taken away the mystery about the other league. I remember collecting baseball cards as a kid and being fascinated by all the strange AL teams, who I never got to see at the Vet or on TV. You used to buy cards and think things like "The Angels? Who in the hell are the Angels?" I wonder if kids growing up in, say, Seattle, used to think, "The Phillies? WTF?" It's like a parallel universe.

JUNE 1, 2004 10:02 PM
PHILADELPHIA, PA
[Phillies and Mets currently (at this moment!) tied 1-1, going to 10th inning]

I had a dream about Smarty Jones last night. I was getting ready to watch the Belmont (not sure where I was... not my place, anyway) but for some reason got up before the race and went somewhere else. While at that other place, I heard that the race had happened... Smarty had won, but I was upset that I had missed it. There is absolutely nothing else to tell, and there is no point to this anecdote, beyond illustrating that all forms of media -- TV, radio, print, Internet -- in Philly and Bucks County have been devoted to Smarty 24/7 for the past three weeks; our equine friend is so inescapable that he is now being broadcast into our dreams, just like in that Futurama episode. This is due to a recent court order which dictated that it is now illegal to go five minutes without discussing Smarty Jones, even in the most peripheral way. But I kid the Jones Boy, I'm totally pumped for the race.

Flyers: Dad, Jon and I chose to take the high road on this one. The Lightning were indeed the better team, and it would be mere sour grapes for me to go off on some ill-advised rant about how the people of Tampa don't "deserve" a Stanley Cup as much as us Phillyans... that's irrelevant nonsense, and I'm ashamed of the (rather numerous) moments when I catch myself thinking it or anything similar. Us sports fans make a big deal about how important we are to the game, and the teams, but in the end that's not especially true. The better team always "deserves" to win, no matter where it plays or how devout its fans are, even if it's the Tampa Bay Lightning. Or even, for the sake of argument, if it's got a stupid-ass cat on its helmet, wears teal and plays in Carolina.

The Mets just scored three runs in the top of the 10th. May I add that the Phils appeared to have left 22 men on base during this game. (That can't be right. That's insane. Who's keeping these box scores?) Including two men in the 9th inning... ugh. I don't like where this is going. I've been down this road before... and I don't quite like the desolate wasteland at which it ends. Nor do I like this tenuous metaphor.

Anyway, let's say that the cat-wearing team from Carolina is playing an American Football Match against a green team with a bird motif. And let's say that the QB of the Bird Team throws many passes to his top two receivers and they drop them, at a rate of something like one dropped pass per second. Let's say that the two receivers -- let's say they're named "James" and "Todd" -- let's say they finish the game with, if memory serves, 4,000 dropped passes between them. You, reader, would say that this is a piss-poor performance, and that the Cat Team deserved to win, right? Even if the Bird Fans have been waiting for a championship longer than the Cat Team has existed? Well, you're right, they did deserve to win, no matter what miffed Bird Fans like myself say.

I bring this up because, as mentioned, Dad and I took the high road on the Flyers' latest loss. Back in January Dad reminded me that making the NFC Championship Game three years in a row is pretty damn good; that there are 32 teams in the league and only four made it as far as the Eagles did. This is true. Same with the Flyers; plenty of hockey fans didn't get to see their team in the final four, but I did. My team just got beat by a better team, and there's no shame in that, right?

However, I did sit there in quiet disappointment, my chin in my hand, in the exact same spot on the couch where I sat in exactly the same way, watching the Flyers lose in precisely the same way in 2000. Can't help being sad, no matter how much "logic" you use to explain away the loss.

All of this has been in the air lately. ESPN is doing a thing where they're counting down the top ten most tortured sports cities (have to put in a link to this at some point, but I don't feel like it)... they're down to the final four, and Andrew and I have decided that we will be LIVID if Philly is number one... which is a little sick on our part, I have to admit. But on the other hand, I've been thinking... well, as it happens ESPN is simultaneously doing another list, the Most Successful Sports Cities 1979-2004. (Why '79? The year ESPN started, natch.) And through their complex mathematical formula, they've determined that Philly is #4. (Nashville is #2, which doesn't make even the slightest damn bit of sense.) But they're right... the Sixers, Flyers and Eagles were pretty competitive during that time, making the playoffs fairly often... and the Phils, for all their ineptitude, did manage to make it to the Series three times, and win one of them. I bitch and moan about how fans in Chicago and Boston bitch and moan and complain all the time, but really, Philly sports fans are a bunch of crybabies, and I'm as big an offender as anybody. We've got a team in all four sports (better than, say, LA), all of whom play in state of the art facilities (better than, say, NYC), and all four of them manage not to embarrass and humiliate me or themselves more often than, say, once a year or so. They've all had brilliant players in my lifetime, and all four have given me and my fellow fans thrilling and incredible moments to cherish forever. All four will undoubtedly continue to amaze and excite me for decades to come. Do I really need a stinking championship to validate all this? Well, yeah, it wouldn't hurt. But still... I gotta relax, and so do you.

Yeah, the Phils just lost a few minutes ago. What a wasted effort... they've been shaky lately, and I'm not happy about it. When I meet them for their conference tomorrow morning, they're going to have a lot of explaining to do.*

*I am insane.