[27599] in linux-announce channel archive
Perfect For All Ages! Go anywhere portable AC keeps you cool
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Ultra Portable Air Cooler)
Tue Jul 20 14:34:19 2021
Date: Tue, 20 Jul 2021 14:30:33 -0400
From: "Ultra Portable Air Cooler" <ultra_portable_air_cooler@sunswp9.club>
To: <linuxch-announce.discuss@charon.mit.edu>
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1 DAY LEFT!
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<!--The batting cage was trundled away. The Orioles fluttered to the side=
lines. Diagonally across the field, by the Red Sox dugout, a cluster of men=
in overcoats were festering like maggots. I could see a splinter of white =
uniform, and Williams? head, held at a self-deprecating and evasive tilt. W=
illiams? conversational stance is that of a six-foot-three-inch man under a=
six-foot ceiling. He moved away to the patter of flash bulbs, and began pl=
aying catch with a young Negro outfielder named Willie Tasby. His arm, neve=
r very powerful, had grown lax with the years, and his throwing motion was =
a kind of muscular drawl. To catch the ball, he flicked his glove hand onto=
his left shoulder (he batted left but threw right, as every schoolboy ough=
t to know) and let the ball plop into it comically. This catch session with=
Tasby was the only time all afternoon I saw him grin. A tight little flock=
of human sparrows who, from the lambent and pampered pink of their faces, =
could only have been Boston politicians moved toward the plate. The loudspe=
akers mammothly coughed as someone huffed on the microphone. The ceremonies=
began. Curt Gowdy, the Red Sox radio and television announcer, who sounds =
like everybody?s brother-in-law, delivered a brief sermon, taking the two w=
ords ?pride? and ?champion? as his text. It began, ?Twenty-one years ago, a=
skinny kid from San Diego, California . . .? and ended, ?I don?t think we?=
ll ever see another like him.? Robert Tibolt, chairman of the board of the =
Greater Boston Chamber of Commerce, presented Williams with a big Paul Reve=
re silver bowl. Harry Carlson, a member of the sports committee of the Bost=
on Chamber, gave him a plaque, whose inscription he did not read in its ent=
irety, out of deference to Williams? distaste for this sort of fuss. Mayor =
Collins presented the Jimmy Fund with a thousand-dollar check. Then the occ=
asion himself stooped to the microphone, and his voice sounded, after the o=
thers, very Californian; it seemed to be coming, excellently amplified, fro=
m a great distance, adolescently young and as smooth as a butternut. His th=
anks for the gifts had not died from our ears before he glided, as if helpl=
essly, into ?In spite of all the terrible things that have been said about =
me by the maestros of the keyboard up there . . .? He glanced up at the pre=
ss rows suspended above home plate. (All the Boston reporters, incidentally=
, reported the phrase as ?knights of the keyboard,? but I heard it as ?maes=
tros? and prefer it that way.) The crowd tittered, appalled. A frightful vi=
sion flashed upon me, of the press gallery pelting Williams with erasers, o=
f Williams clambering up the foul screen to slug journalists, of a riot, of=
Mayor Collins being crushed. ?. . . And they were terrible things,? Willia=
ms insisted, with level melancholy, into the mike. ?I?d like to forget them=
, but I can?t.? He paused, swallowed his memories, and went on, ?I want to =
say that my years in Boston have been the greatest thing in my life.? The c=
rowd, like an immense sail going limp in a change of wind, sighed with reli=
ef. Taking all the parts himself, Williams then acted out a vivacious littl=
e morality drama in which an imaginary tempter came to him at the beginning=
of his career and said, ?Ted, you can play anywhere you like.? Leaping nim=
bly into the role of his younger self (who in biographical actuality had ye=
arned to be a Yankee), Williams gallantly chose Boston over all the other c=
ities, and told us that Tom Yawkey was the greatest owner in baseball and w=
e were the greatest fans. We applauded ourselves heartily. The umpire came =
out and dusted the plate. The voice of doom announced over--->=20
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<p class=3D"paywall"><span style=3D"color: #ffffff;"><a style=3D"color: #=
ffffff;" href=3D"http://www.sunswp9.club/b6f4p2395yqr8611t3e9maS7a1m40yhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47VQ8nKKd6N1qTS05Vlsvp/raves-nutria">Humiliated by his '59 season, Williams determi=
ned, once more, to come back. I, as a specimen Williams</a> partisan, was b=
oth glad and fearful. All baseball fans believe in miracles; the question i=
s, how <em>many</em> do<a style=3D"color: #ffffff;" href=3D"=
http://www.sunswp9.club/aeration-induct/3d25XB2395z8xW612zh3ex9br7a1X40Rhbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47MQ8nKKd6gi1D0B6LPsv3W"> you believe in? He looked like a ghost in spring training. Manager =
Jurges warned us ahead of time that if Williams didn't come through he woul=
d be benched, just like anybody else. As it turned out, it was Jurges who w=
as benched. Williams entered the 1960 season needing eight home runs to hav=
e a lifetime total of 500; after one time at bat in Washington, he needed s=
even. For a stretch, he was hittin</a>g a home run every second game that h=
e played. He passed Lou Gehrig's lifetime total, then the number 500, then =
Mel Ott's total, and finished with 521, thirteen behind Jimmy Foxx, who alo=
ne stands between Williams and Babe Ruth's unapproachable 714. The summer w=
as a statistician's picnic. His two-thousandth walk came and went, his eigh=
teen-hundredth run batted in, his <a style=3D"color: #ffffff;" href=3D"=
http://www.sunswp9.club/2876h2F3T95t8MS611m3e9Fcw7a1y40shbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47yQ8nKKd5FX1p06tyjsTv/intermodule-exponentials">sixteenth All-Star Game. At one point, he hit a home run off a pitc=
her, Don Lee, off whose father, Thornton Lee, he had hit a home run a gener=
ation before. The only comparable season for a forty-two-year-old man was T=
y Cobb's in 1928. Cobb batted .323 and hit one homer. Williams batted .316 =
but hit t</a>wenty-nine homers.</span></p>=20
<p class=3D"paywall"><span style=3D"color: #ffffff;">I<a style=3D"color: =
#ffffff;" href=3D"http://www.sunswp9.club/rascals-scoffs/44a6w2D3l95q8p6p11hu3e9dt7a1P40Ohbr47Ga-Drrs4rGIEHbwG4wwfGaDvsrEibxEIH47oQ8nKKd6zz1M0R6gksOvl">n sum, though generally conceded to be the gr=
eatest hitter of his era, he did not establish himself as ?the greatest hit=
ter who ever lived.? Cobb, for average, and Ruth, for power, remain supreme=
Cobb, Rogers Hornsby, Joe Jackson, and Lefty O'Doul, among players since =
1900, have higher lifetime averag</a>es than Williams' .344. Unlike Foxx, G=
ehrig, Hack Wilson, Hank Greenberg, and Ralph Kiner, Williams never came cl=
ose to matching Babe Ruth's season home-run total of sixty. In the list of =
major-league batting records, not one is held by Williams. He is second in =
walks drawn, third in home runs, fifth in lifetime averages, sixth in runs =
batted in, eighth in runs scored and in total bases, fourteenth in doubles,=
and thirtieth in hits. But if we allow him merely average seasons for the =
four-plus seasons he lost to two wars, and add another season for the month=
s he lost to injuries, we get a man who in all the power totals would be se=
cond, and not a very distant second, to Ruth. And if we further allow that =
these years would have been not merely average but prime years, if we allow=
for all the months when Williams was playing in sub-par condition, if we p=
ermit his early and later years in baseball to be some sort of index of wha=
t the middle years could have been, if we give him a right-field fence that=
is not, like Fenway's, one of the most distant in the league, and if?the l=
east excusable ?if??we imagine him condescending to outsmart the Williams S=
hift, we can defensibly assemble, like a colossus induced from the sizable =
fragments that do remain, a statistical figure not incommensurate with his =
grandiose ambition. From the statistics that are on the books, a good case =
can be made that in the <em>combination</em> of power and average=
Williams is first; nobody else ranks so high in both categories. Finally, =
there is the witness of the eyes; men whose memories go back to Shoeless Jo=
e Jackson?another unlucky natural?rank him and Williams together as the bes=
t-looking hitters they have seen. It was for our last look that ten thousan=
d of us had come.</span></p>=20
<p class=3D"has-dropcap has-dropcap__lead-standard-heading paywall"><span=
style=3D"color: #ffffff;">Two girls, one of them with pert buckteeth and e=
yes as black as vest buttons, the other with white skin and flesh-colored h=
air, like an underdeveloped photograph of a redhead, came and sat on my rig=
ht. On my other side was one of those frowning, chestless young-old men who=
can frequently be seen, often wearing sailor hats, attending ball games al=
one. He did not once open his program but instead tapped it, rolled up, on =
his knee as he gave the game his disconsolate attention. A young lady, with=
freckles and a depressed, dainty nose that by an optical illusion seemed t=
o thrust her lips forward for a kiss, sauntered down into the box seats and=
with striking aplomb took a seat right behind the roof of the Oriole dugou=
t. She wore a blue coat with a Northeastern University emblem sewed to it. =
The girls beside me took it into their heads that this was Williams' daught=
er. She looked too old to me, and why would she be sitting behind the visit=
ors' dugout? On the other hand, from the way she sat there, staring at the =
sky and French-inhaling, she clearly was _some_body. Other fans came and ec=
lipsed her from view. The crowd looked less like a weekday ballpark crowd t=
han like the folks you might find in Yellowstone National Park, or emerging=
from automobiles at the top of scenic Mount Mansfield. There were a lot of=
competitively well-dressed couples of tourist age, and not a few babes in =
arms. A row of five seats in front of me was abruptly filled with a woman a=
nd four children, the youngest of them two years old, if that. Someday, pre=
sumably, he could tell his grandchildren that he saw Williams play. Along w=
ith these tots and second-honeymooners, there were Harvard freshmen, giving=
off that peculiar nervous glow created when a quantity of insouciance is s=
aturated with insecurity; thick-necked Army officers with brass on their sh=
oulders and lead in their voices; pepperings of priests; perfumed bouquets =
of Roxbury Fabian fans; shiny salesmen from Albany and Fall River; and thos=
e gray, hoarse men?taxi-drivers, slaughterers, and bartenders who will cont=
inue to click through the turnstiles long after everyone else has deserted =
to television and tramporamas. Behind me, two young male voices blossomed, =
cracking a joke about God's five proofs that Thomas Aquinas exists?typical =
Boston College levity.</span></p>=20
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