The phrase “American way of life” is a little hokey. But it is not bereft of meaning. High-school football on Friday nights. Shopping at Target. Those things are part of “the American way of life,” aren’t they? Yet they have been curbed by crime. I open my Impromptus today by discussing this issue. Then I turn to Afghanistan, where hell is unfolding. But hasn’t Afghanistan been hell for a long time? True, but there are degrees of it.
After I put my column “to bed,” a story came across the AP wire. The first paragraph reads,
The U.S. left Afghanistan’s Bagram Airfield after nearly 20 years by shutting off the electricity and slipping away in the night without notifying the base’s new Afghan commander, who discovered the Americans’ departure more than two hours after they left, Afghan military officials said.
No matter what one’s view of our withdrawal from Afghanistan, I would think, this detail is jolting.
In my column, I go on to discuss many other issues, including Independence Day, and the meaning of it all — of America, that is.
Let’s have some mail.
In an Impromptus two weeks ago, I wrote about “I don’t know.” I’ll explain. On Inside the NBA, Shaquille O’Neal was asked for a prediction: Who would win a particular game? After thinking a second, he said, “I don’t know.” Charles Barkley gibed, “That’s not an answer. They don’t pay us to say ‘I don’t know’ on TV, fool.”
(Shaq and Chuck are national treasures, in my opinion.)
In my column, I wrote,
The brightest, wisest, most experienced people I know say “I don’t know” a lot. Dimmer (and less secure) ones almost never say it. Often, the more expertise you have, the less sure you are. The less you know, the surer you are.
I got a note from my friend Mike Brown, the veteran journalist in Rockdale, Texas.
Jay,
The Shaq story reminded me of one of television’s finest moments, a short list to be sure.
Not long after The Ascent of Man was aired/published, Jacob Bronowski was being interviewed and was asked a question to which he did not know the answer.
Bronowski paused and simply thought, actually mulled the question in his mind as the camera remained on his face for what seemed like two minutes. (It was probably 20 seconds.) When he concluded his thought process, he still did not know the answer, and said so.
Like you, I was struck by that moment of intellectual honesty and integrity, and even more by the image of someone actually thinking on television. Bronowski was an imposing figure, although perhaps not quite as imposing as Shaq.
Yes, indeed. (Jacob Bronowski was a Polish-British mathematician, historian, and all-around intellectual, the brightest kid on the block.)
In that same Impromptus, I wrote,
I wonder what you think of this: For years now, I have followed sports via my phone, via YouTube — absorbing highlights and summaries. I believe this has harmed my ability to watch whole games, or rounds of golf, on television. I have kind of forgotten how to do it. The ol’ noggin has been rewired.
Anyone know what I mean, by chance?
Many readers responded to this query, including one who said,
You’re not alone in the way you’ve come to watch sports. I don’t know about you, but I am disappointed in myself for being this way, because I know what it used to be like.
The drama of baseball is in its pauses. It is not a frenzy of activity, but a gradual heightening of suspense, like a good thriller. The time between pitches is excruciating when the game is on the line.
I still remember the nail-biting suspense of Game 6 of the 1985 playoff series between my Cardinals and the Dodgers. The Cardinals were down by two runs. Our slugger, Jack Clark, was coming to bat. There was a long, slow discussion about whether the Dodgers would pitch to Clark or walk him. I was 14 years old, leaning forward every second, desperate to know the outcome. And then, one pitch — a no-doubt home run to give the Cardinals the lead (and eventually, the pennant). I jumped so high off the couch I think I almost hit my head on the ceiling.
Now I fear I would watch the home run on my phone later, and I would be robbing myself of that exquisite emotional release that comes only from enduring the buildup.
Beautifully said. Again, for today’s Impromptus, go here. And thanks to one and all.
Oh, one more thing: I should address the photo at the top of this post. What’s the deal? I snapped the picture in New York not long ago. Those famous words appear on a new structure, by the Hudson River. “Excelsior” is the New York State motto; “E pluribus unum,” of course, is our national motto. Words that ring my chimes.