Another neat surprise for the book.

Turns out that Orson Scott Card, who only has four Hugo awards (ranking
as the 3rd-most-Hugoriffic sci-fi writer so far on this entire timeline, two notches ahead of
Robert Heinlein), is now doing the small-college-prof thing and
scribbling on the side for a small weekly.  And so he wrote about Prisoner of Trebekistan not long ago here (scroll down).  Neat!

In the review, he adds that I’ve "ended any thought" for him of going on Jeopardy! himself.

Yeah, well, I’d positively suck in Battle School.  So we’ll call it even.

OK, not exactly what you’re thinking, but still.

Next Thursday, I’ll be doing a live teleseminar thing with my buddy Patrick Combs, whose whole professional career is about learning and growing and figuring out how to do rewarding things with your life.

Since we’re friends and all, Patrick sometimes speaks about me in terms that make me wonder if I’m actually the guy he’s talking about, but whatever — there’s this phone thing, and we’re doing it, and if you enjoy this site or want to know more about TV or radio or Jeopardy! or the book deal or whatever, we’ll be talking about all of those things.

I’ve known Patrick for maybe a dozen years, and while we don’t agree on
absolutely everything, he has taught me a lot, often just by example,
and I can tell you nobody is more sincere about trying to help make
people’s lives richer and cooler.

So there it is.

(Incidentally, I have just learned from his site that I am an AMAZING MANIFESTER.  I have no idea what that means.  However, if I do try to manifest in front of you, well, shield your eyes, apparently.)

As long as I’m on the east coast, I’ve just been invited to read from and sign Prisoner of Trebekistan at the Yale bookstore at 3 pm next Wednesday, October 11th.  This will be followed at 4 pm by what I take to be a private event, a Master’s Tea (which I take to be some sort of James Liptonish chat for the benefit of students) over on the campus itself.

Some guys at the Yale Record, the nation’s oldest humor magazine, are apparently behind this.  I’m grateful for the invitation.  Very cool.

More to come.

Which is to say: yes, the Indians sucked all year long, exactly as predicted here during the first game in April.

Several people who have read Prisoner of Trebekistan have asked if being a Cleveland sports fan is really as bad as I describe in the book.

It’s worse.

Now that it’s the last day of the regular season, let’s look back at a summer destined to go
down on history, because that’s the only way history is going to
remember it:

The leadoff hitter who was given $24 million after batting .289 last year… batted .290 this year.  (He’s actually turning into a fine player, however.  So the snark in his case is admittedly a bit unfair.)

The second hitter with not much power or speed had arguably the best
all-around year of his career.  He’s not a threat to reach 40 homers
and 40 steals like Alfonso Soriano.  He’s not likely to
reach the 30-30 club, or even 20-20.  Or 10-10.  But
he did manage to go 9-9, a mark only bettered by fifty other guys.

So
that’s exciting.

The front office traded the first baseman who can’t hit lefthanders for another
first baseman with zero career home runs.  (He now has three in 175
trips to the plate, so if he somehow doubles his output next year,
he’ll have about one-third as much power as the Phillies’ rookie first
baseman.)  Then they traded the second baseman with a career average of
about .270 for another second baseman who hit about .270, then replaced
him with a career minor leaguer.  This was actually a slight improvement.

You get the idea.  There was never, ever any hope this year.

That’s not to say the Indians have no good players.  They’ve got Travis
Hafner, a first baseman who can’t field his position, so long-term he can
only really be used as a DH.  Plus, they’ve got Ryan Garko, a promising
rookie first baseman who
can’t really field his position, so long-term he can only be used at DH. 
They’ve also got Victor Martinez, a catcher-turned-first baseman who
can’t field either position, so long-term he can only be used at DH. 

All they need now are guys to play about seven more spots on the field,
and they’re golden.  Plus about seven more decent pitchers.

The Browns,
meanwhile, have not won a football game all year.  As I write this,
they’re currently playing the Raiders, who have also not won a game all
year.  The Raiders are beating the Browns 21-3.  It doesn’t even look that close.

And yet here’s the thing: I love sports. 

This is why I spent Friday night in a bar in Santa Monica, watching the
Aussie Rules Grand Final, cheering for my buddy Jono’s favorite team. 
(Go Weagles!)  This is why I spent part of my workday yesterday watching Arsenal pull out a come-from-behind victory against Charlton.  This is why I keep Munster and Western Province matches on the Tivo.  This is why I’ll be in Sydney again in a few months, screaming my head off over the Ashes.

Basically, if I pick a team to root for in every sport played on earth, somebody has to win a title now and again.  It sure as sh*t ain’t happening any other way.

If you don’t understand why a guy who spent his whole life watching the
Browns and Indians now buys satellite subscription services from halfway around the world, just so he can
cheer for guys named Cesc Fabregas, Ronan O’Gara, and Bolla Conradie, you have not watched enough Cleveland sports.


I would like to tell you that I, for one, have.

But gosh, a couple of the Indians’ rookies actually looked pretty
good… maybe next year, I have actually thought to myself today. 
Several times.

Maybe next year.

Actually, maybe around 2009.  Maybe.

Sigh.

Or, how not to see the Cape of Good Hope in South Africa:

This event takes place late in the book, just as I’ve started to travel and try to see how all the stuff shoved into my head might mean anything.

You may see some mild video weirdness in the first five seconds, btw.  I have no idea why, and so I encourage you to discount this as entirely a figment of your imagination.