This is what keeps me from writing much lately. Anywhere, not just here. I'm too busy thinking about whether I have a right to write. But I have been able to carry on casual conversations about baseball, football, tennis--the beauty of sports is that the stories they tell are about us and our desires, but in an idealized, remote form. There is more beauty there, in Andy Roddick's serve, in the upset by the underdog, in the desperate heroics of a pennant race, in a ball curving foul, tumbling just inside the goal post, barely skimming the sideline, dropping, flying, spinning--
Easy.
