What makes a piece of writing an Under Review piece?
I asked myself this before I started reviewing submissions for this issue. It was meant to be a sort of recalibration of my inner scale and a focused pause before cannonballing into the always fast, sometimes choppy waters of issue production. I should tell you that we have no formal rubric for evaluating the work we receive, no consistent scoring system or formula. I like it that way; I think Meghan and Terry do, too.
My name is not Mary Katherine Blackwood. I am 36 years old, exactly one year older than the Minnesota Timberwolves, and I live in Minneapolis with thousands of my brothers and sisters. I have often thought that with any luck at all we could see the Wolves parade down Nicollet Mall on a perfect early summer afternoon, because when I was six my dad took me to see Doug West and the T-Wolves beat the Charlotte Hornets and ever since then I’ve believed, but I’ve had to be content with what I have.
Indubitably, Babe Ruth’s trade from the Red Sox to the Yankees for $100,000 ranks as the worst baseball swap ever. Still, serious fans of every major league team can emphasize with cursed Boston rooters over ruinous trades involving a parade of franchise icons.
“All right, welcome back. 2:21 left to play here in Michigan Stadium. Michigan trailing 21-16 and driving, the Wolverines needing a touchdown to go ahead, a field goal won’t do it. Nineteen, even in these uncertain times, still less than twenty-one. Into Irish territory now, with a first down from the Notre Dame forty-two. Denard calling for quiet now as he approaches the line; 115,000-plus in Ann Arbor oblige.”
When I heard about the Argentinian named Messi arriving from Barcelona, I left early in the
morning and walked the riverbank, following the quais from the Île de la Cite past the Jardin des
Tuileries to a fishing spot under the shade of the Pont Mirabeau. I caught two carp off the wake
of a tourist riverboat, enough for Hadley and Bumby to enjoy for a supper fried in butter and
potatoes.
In the end, he thinks of a dunk. Of that moment when he seizes the ball, and it’s fully in his
control, and his body transitions from analysis to pure movement, not thinking about anything,
everything automatic, dribbling, almost free-floating, his legs feel like nothing…
The ball curved through the air, a blue and white blur standing out in front of the empty stadium seats. The players in red break, pulling defenders along with them.
The Quick Lane Bowl takes place in Detroit in the week following Christmas whenever there isn’t a surging pandemic. It was founded in 1997 as the Motor City Bowl and played at the Pontiac Silverdome until moving to Ford Field in 2002, where the Detroit Lions play real NFL teams.
Terry is joined today by the author of the poetry collection, Plunder, which won the May Sarton New Hampshire Poetry Prize from Bauhan Publishing.
Glenn Stout is the author of several acclaimed sports books like The Young Woman and the Sea, Fenway 1912, The Selling of the Babe, as well as history books about the Cubs, Dodgers, and Yankees.
Terry is joined by the Under Review's design/web editor and fellow Oregon State alum JP Bertram to reflect on the Beavers' magical, storybook March Madness run.
Rarely during 35 years of marriage have I found myself scrambling to find gifts that would bring a smile to my wife’s face. Unfortunately, back in October of ’92, the reservoir of ideas that had served me well during our first decade together had run uncharacteristically dry.