Good writing, faking it ’til you make it, and working hard: While We’re Waiting…

Happy Wednesday, Blawg Pound. I don’t want to waste any of your time today. No time to mess about. I’m gonna share a link, and I’ll write some stuff, and then we’ll all eat some French toast, go out there, and give this Wednesday hell before watching the Cavs take Game 2 from the Bulls.

Deal? Deal.

Wright Thompson wrote something, and I will share something that he writes every single time. The subject of his latest piece is Ted Williams, but more about his legacy and how his only living child, Claudia, deals with it long after his passing.

It’s classic Thompson, humanizing every character and using jabs of exposition to set up tearjerking right hooks. There are lines that elicit laughs and others that inspire horror. He paints vivid images of every bookshelf and fly rod — Williams was an avid fisherman — but does so without trite description. He explains not what things look like, but what they are.

Perhaps more than anything, Claudia Williams comes across a woman seeking her father’s affection in the way that all children do. Ted was born into a chaotic family, and he passed pieces of that on to his own, a painful cycle beginning anew. I don’t want to spoil the details of the story too much, except to say that every word is worth reading. It is one of triumph and tragedy, of coping with loss, and of looking back while trying to move forward.

One excerpt describes a younger Claudia and her ceaseless quest to be the best, and to do so without one iota of preferential treatment.

When she decided to be a lifeguard, she completed the most advanced open-water rescue training. After deciding to make jewelry, she took classes to become a master craftsman. She learned how to sky-dive, and after having to deploy the backup chute on her first solo jump, she went back up again: I’ll show you, sky! Her workout routines — miles in a pool and on a treadmill, hours daily in a gym — break the alpha dogs who try to hang with Ted’s daughter. She makes them earn their story. In the past few years, she studied nursing, and even that hasn’t been enough, so now she’s studying biology and statistics, prerequisites for graduate school. Her top choice is Duke, and in her application essay she talked about her life as a frustrated athlete without a sport. She talked about the influence of her father, but she never mentioned that the father in question was Ted Williams.

Among the most impressive things about that story is that it was years in the making. Thompson first reached out to Claudia Williams in 2013, but did not meet her until fall of 2014. I can barely finish a sandwich if I’ve set it down for more than a minute, so I can hardly grasp piecing together a story, bit by bit, over dozens of months. Thompson does just that, and for more than one story at a time.

I only know that last part because Thompson’s ESPN colleague Kevin Van Valkenburg took to Twitter Tuesday to say so.

One thing I'd like to point out abt Wright's Teddy Ballgame story: He's constantly juggling five or six like this, sometimes spanning years.

— Kevin Van Valkenburg (@KVanValkenburg) May 5, 2015

It takes remarkable patience and devotion to lay the seeds of a story, wait till the subject is ready, work on other stuff, come back to it.

— Kevin Van Valkenburg (@KVanValkenburg) May 5, 2015

Sometimes young journos say: "Gosh, I want to do what Wright does." Ok, well know how much work goes into that first. Then proceed.

— Kevin Van Valkenburg (@KVanValkenburg) May 5, 2015

There are a couple things I like to think I’ve learned in my time on Earth. I’ve picked up more than a couple trivial things — Mount Everest is tall and the sun is big and stuff like that — but I’m thinking now about bigger things, wider truths that can hopefully help us find our way on this big rock we all call home.

One: No one knows what they’re doing. This is an oversimplification, but I still think it’s true. Whether you’re taking on a new task at work or exploring a new city or struggling through a new relationship, no one knows exactly what to do. We’re all just doing our best, and often that means faking it as best we can.

This can be disheartening — extrapolating this idea to our politicians is enough to give you heartburn — but I take solace in it. When I think about those who (I perceive to) have done me wrong, I try (with limited success) to put myself in their shoes, to think of what I might have done in the same situation. I try to remember that the world of others does not, in fact, revolve around me. I try to remember that that guy did not cut me off in traffic exclusively to be a Richard, but because he has some place to be. I try to remember that everyone is dealing with their own pile of crap, and that each person’s pile is the largest that that person will ever know.

Apologies for not posting a Warning: Second-rate Bullspit Zen Crossing sign.

The second has come to me more recently, and dovetails with Van Valkenburg’s tweets: Working hard is more important than being talented. Now, this is obviously not always the case. I can’t become LeBron James or Jimi Hendrix or Richard Pryor just by trying my best. Even the finest sculptor needs decent clay to make a good pot.

Working hard, though, guarantees you a shot. It means that, whatever your ceiling, you have a chance at getting there. I wish I realized this when I was younger. Early on I developed a sort of arrogance, a feeling that I was good enough and smart enough, and that that would be enough to do whatever I wanted.

I’ve done okay, but I know I could have done better. I know I can do better. It’s hard sometimes — the couch and the television make for a fiendish work-killing duo — but every once in a while I feel that little tinge that inspires me to do better. I often tell that urge to go back where it came from, but sometimes it sinks its teeth in too far and I have no choice but to give in. The result is usually better than watching TV.

My point, generously assuming I have one, is that I hope you feel those same sorts of tinges. I hope that you’re doing the best you can, at whatever it is you do. The world is a better place when people work hard. You know, assuming those people aren’t sociopaths or mass murderers or anything.

Anywho, sorry for all the navel-gazing today, gang. You showed up to a sports website and a pseudo-philosophical jam sesh broke out. Sometimes this stuff gets good to me, and it strikes me as the sort of thing that is worth putting out there from time to time. If you’ve made it this far, thank you.

Oh, and Cavs in 5. I’m not about to let one game dampen my optimism. Come on Cavs.