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But that's what I always really liked about Halberstam: he was one of those guys, like the Rogers Kahn and Angell, who could write about anything, but would always come back to sports every now and then. Why? Because he enjoyed them. Because he was a fan. And that came through in his books, whether he was writing about a pennant race, a rambunctious NBA team, a hooded sweatshirt-loving coach, or a bunch of no-name rowers.
There are some people who write about sports (a Mr. Feinstein comes readily to mind) so constantly, so mechanically, that it seems more about the paycheck than the outcome. I don't think you could ever say that about Halberstam.
He probably would've preferred to go out while covering a war instead of as a passenger in a graduate student's car. But he'd likely be the first to tell you that those are just The Breaks of the Game.
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this nigga died?
What the fuck you meeeeean is he fucking dead? He's fuckin layin like newborn fuckin baby, God.
Wow, a Wu-Tang reference in response to a memoriam for David Halberstam. I am shocked and thoroughly amused.
Oh, and Susan, you come into my blog with that spam s*** and I will rip out your f###ing soul and feed it to the 6 starving Panamanian kids I have locked up in the basement.
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