First, for the 2011 Texas Rangers, full of pitching gaffes and managerial woes, but also full of crazy, great baseball moments — like Nelson Cruz’s walk-off grand slam, for example. Or Josh Hamilton’s two-run homer in Game 6, or Mike Napoli’s two-run double in the bottom of the 8th in Game 5, giving the Rangers a 3-2 stranglehold in the series. Or Adrian Beltre’s home run to tie Game 5 in the sixth inning. Or everything else Mike Napoli did.
The St. Louis Cardinals came out strong, and after the absolute madness of Game 6, they outplayed the Rangers to win the World Series fair and square. I do love a good narrative, and the Cardinals’ is among the best – 10.5 games back of the wild card behind the Atlanta Braves, sneaking into the postseason after the greatest baseball day ever (sorry, it was totally still better than Game 6), winning the World Series after being a strike away from losing so many times … it’s a great story, and I’m glad it finished so well.
But I’d love to see the Rangers win one day soon. Two losses in a row isn’t easy, and they’re a fun team to watch when they’re not walking six batters, two with the bases loaded, in Game 7 of the World Series. It was a tough way to go, falling apart at the seams like that – they were dominated by the Cardinals for a large part of the series – but when they win their first championship, it will have been well-earned and long overdue. Shape up and come back swinging, guys — and here’s to a good run.
And second, in a total 180, to Steve Jobs from his sister, Mona. After the amazing outpouring of grief from around the globe, from everyone who had ever used an Apple product and who had been inspired by them, and by him, it was hard not to be a little desensitized. Flowers at a computer store seemed like overkill after a few days, something entirely too first world. This piece is beautiful and human, and I dare you not to tear up when you hit the end. It reminds me of why we need people like Jobs, whether he was a tyrant or not. We need to remember how to imagine all the time, and how to make everything we do count.
[...]He explained that he worked in computers.
I didn’t know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.
I told Steve I’d recently considered my first purchase of a computer: something called the Cromemco.
Steve told me it was a good thing I’d waited. He said he was making something that was going to be insanely beautiful.
I want to tell you a few things I learned from Steve, during three distinct periods, over the 27 years I knew him. They’re not periods of years, but of states of being. His full life. His illness. His dying.
[...] We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.