PnP Parody Party Contest: Write Like an Angell

Write Like an Angell Contest

There is a long-standing tradition of parody in literature, from Hemingway all the way around the world to Sarah Palin, with reams of Internet teletype in between.

On the heels of Eric’s Roger Angell Appreciation post, we thought we’d do the same thing and invite you to join this new contest, and write parodies of Roger Angell’s sepia-toned, straight ahead New Yorker style. We’re calling it Write Like an Angell.

The gig is that you describe a player or baseball incident of your choice in the Angell way. This might involve comparing a particular style quirk to a mundane daily activity, or describing the hoi polloi and capturing the quaint essence of a long-time fan. You could also do what he did back in the 60s and describe the seating in a certain domed stadium in the metaphorical terms of a summer dessert cocktail.

And it’s a contest, so for the first place winner, I will create a customized digital baseball card, in the manner of those of our poets-in-blogidence (examples here, here, here), for whatever human, animal, or mineral you so desire. The top three winners will be enshrined forever in the Rogue’s Baseball Index, under Roger Angell’s entry (which doesn’t exist yet), with a link of your choice that isn’t porn.

You can email your entries to tips@pitchersandpoets.com, or post them in the comments. Eric and I are the final judges, unless Roger Angell calls and wants to be the judge, in which case he will be the judge.

You want an example of a contest entry, you say? Here is my offering:

I haven’t been to the press box in more than a month. The spread of ham sandwiches and Dr. Pepper that I recalled from the chilly contests of early March was all but extinct. Standing at attention in the instead was a stern company of carrot sticks facing down a squadron of celery. The sportwriters were as wary of the raw buffet as Ichiro Suzuki was unfazed by the platter of sinkers regularly delivered by Derek Lowe on the night of my visit. With every pitch, he gazes up into the distance. One might think he were trying to remember where he parked his car. At the mid-point of his swing, Ichiro leans backwards like a kite-surfer coasting in a light gale.

2 Responses to “PnP Parody Party Contest: Write Like an Angell”


  • Kind of Like Being in a Little Show

    The day dawned dully and smelled of the salt and grease and bacon from the motel’s shabby restaurant – more greasy spoon diner than the kind of 3-wannabe-4 star brasseries which grace the lobbies of hotels where those in the bigs get to stay. But this is double-A, and the already-too-old-at-26 centerfielder – who had the wheels of a Mercury as a late-round teen draftee – sat alone in the naugahyde-covered booth and waited for the regular crowd of first-ones-at-the-park, last-ones-to-leave-the-clubhouse teammates: the live-armed lefty perpetually a few whiskers away from gaining command of the strike zone; the snake-bitten second baseman who though slick with his reliable glove is prone to falter whenever the top brass watches; and the surly catcher with the creaky knees and the falling-far-and-fast batting average. He’ll never make it, and he knows it like a retired priest knows an obscure Psalm. It just never quite makes it to the front of his mind.

    The elevator finally lets out a tinny buzz of a ding, and the three teammates step from the lift to join him in the café. They share the lukewarm contents of the plastic pot of coffee left on the table, a careful tip, and a taxi to the park. They won’t return to the old hotel for nearly a dozen hours. To while away the interim they’ll dress carefully; send a few text messages; watch a little ESPN, autograph no baseballs, and work diligently – professionally – on their swings, their delivery, their wheels. (They are professionals, after all, which leads one wonder: how good would your average banker or insurance agent or dental hygienist or fast-food worker be if he or she spent similar time and attention on their profession.) Later, around dusk, the four professionals will take the field to entertain a handful of the small park’s most devoted denizens. Probably in another meaningless win or meaningless loss. And then they’ll update their individual statistics, and hope to catch an important eye.

  • Awesome, thanks for the entry!

    You are the contest winner, so let me know who you’d like a custom baseball card of, and an email address. You can send that info to tips@pitchersandpoets.com.

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