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The Sunday Metropolitan section of the Times asked me to write about watching the World Cup in New York. With the help of some very good editors, I have this piece in this Sunday's section:
www.nytimes.com/2018/06/15/nyregion/watch-world-cup-new-york.html The Metropolitan section on line is also listing places to eat and drink and maybe even make merry, depending on the score, during this month-long World Cup: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/06/13/nyregion/where-to-watch-world-cup-nyc.html
Altenir Silva
6/15/2018 09:35:21 pm
Dear George: I think the Foley’s, the Irish baseball pub, is amazing. I would love to watch a game of Brazil there in 2026. Thanks for introducing us to this amazing place.
George
6/17/2018 05:29:18 pm
Dear Altenir: belated Happy Father's Day.
bruce
6/16/2018 02:31:22 am
george,
Alan Posner
6/17/2018 11:29:54 am
Always good to read what GV has to say. Once again, I am very upset about the terrible announcing by Fox personnel. They do not shut up. Stick to saying who is passing to whom and do not go into player bios or review earlier games during the run of play. Have they never watched how NBC Sports does it? Do they think US audiences require constant chatter?
bruce
6/17/2018 12:23:51 pm
alan,
Brian Savin
6/18/2018 08:16:22 am
There seems to be an interesting competition developing between the Wall Street Journal and the catch-up NYT. The Journal drew first blood with the opening match pub selections for supporters of each country. The Times needed you, George.
Brian Savin
6/18/2018 08:49:30 pm
I need to correct myself. I was putting the Times in a competition league that was too high. The Times was not competing against the WSJ by weighing in on the World Cup pub/restaurant scene. It was actually trying to compete with the NY Post! I had forgotten I had picked up a copy while in New York and saw it there. Comments are closed.
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QUOTES
More and More, I Talk to the Dead--Margaret Renkl NASHVILLE — After my mother died so suddenly — laughing at a rerun of “JAG” at 10 p.m., dying of a hemorrhagic stroke by dawn — I dreamed about her night after night. In every dream she was willfully, outrageously alive, unaware of the grief her death had caused. In every dream relief poured through me like a flash flood. Oh, thank God! Then I would wake into keening grief all over again. Years earlier, when my father learned he had advanced esophageal cancer, his doctor told him he had perhaps six months to live. He lived far longer than that, though I never thought of it as “living” once I learned how little time he really had. For six months my father was dying, and then he kept dying for two years more. I was still working and raising a family, but running beneath the thin soil of my own life was a river of death. My father’s dying governed my days. After he died, I wept and kept weeping, but I rarely dreamed about my father the way I would dream about my mother nearly a decade later. Even in the midst of calamitous grief, I understood the difference: My father’s long illness had given me time to work death into the daily patterns of my life. My mother’s sudden death had obliterated any illusion that daily patterns are trustworthy. Years have passed now, and it’s the ordinariness of grief itself that governs my days. The very air around me thrums with absence. I grieve the beloved high-school teacher I lost the summer after graduation and the beloved college professor who was my friend for more than two decades. I grieve the father I lost nearly 20 years ago and the father-in-law I lost during the pandemic. I grieve the great-grandmother who died my junior year of college and the grandmother who lived until I was deep into my 40s. Some of those I grieve are people I didn’t even know. How can John Prine be gone? I hear his haunting last song, “I Remember Everything,” and I still can’t quite believe that John Prine is gone. ----- https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/30/opinion/death-grief-memory.html Jan. 30, 2023 Categories
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