Surf’s down

The new issue of Sports Illustrated arrived yesterday in the mail. This morning, I flipped through it, looking for coverage of the fantastically competitive first-round NBA playoff series between the Bulls and the Celtics. There it was! Five full pages! Three of which were photos! (Well, after subtracting long pull-quotes and inset  photography, at least there were 1.75 pages or so of writing about the series.)

Sure, much of it was about the absence of Celtics forward Kevin Garnett, but at least the Bulls’ loss of Luol Deng got mentioned, too (in the second-to-last paragraph). And the writer even managed to shoehorn in his required reference to Twitter! Awesome! Even if it was a complete non sequitur!

Still, I was a bit disappointed there was no other playoff coverage, in what’s been a weirdly compelling first round. Sure, the loss of Garnett is big for the Celtics, but the Spurs just got knocked out in the first round because they were missing Manu Ginobili. The Orlando Magic, seeded third in the east, can’t separate from a poorly assembled Sixers team with an interim coach. LeBron James & the Cavs just put the last nail in the Detroit Pistons’ coffin. Chauncey Billups has managed to get the year’s biggest collection of (playoff-level) knuckleheads to keep its collective head together long enough to reach the second round.

The only other NBA item in the ish was a two-page spread of Dikembe Mutombo lying in a crumpled heap on court — it would’ve been fantastic if he waved off assistance by wagging his index finger — and a one-third-page item on . . . Dikembe Mutombo’s career-ending injury.

So what was in this 78-page issue, that kept the editors from covering — or even making mention of — the rest of the NBA playoffs? Well, as far as features go, there was the NFL draft, which warranted 4 pages of coverage (including pix & sidebar), the 4-page cover story on rejuvenated pitcher Zack Greinke (including 2-page photo-spread), and a 3-page feature on twin brothers who play for some tea called the Canucks in a sport that seems to involve ice.

Oh, and there’s a TEN-PAGE PROFILE ON PROFESSIONAL SURFER KELLY SLATER.

I’m not making that up. It’s a TEN-PAGE FEATURE on a 37-year-old guy who surfs. (Okay, it’s slightly smaller than 10 pages, because of the one-third page ad on the final page. And if you subtract the pictures and pull-quotes, it only adds up to about SEVEN PAGES OF COPY, compared to the 1.75 pages given to the Bulls-Celtics story.) So 13% of the issue is devoted to A SINGLE ARTICLE ON SURFING.

I guess you have to chase the ad dollars. Oh, wait! There’s no advertising in the article, except for a one-pager for the InterContinental Hotels Group and the aforementioned one-third-page, which refers to a facing page ad for Rockport Shoes. (Not surfwear. Just dress shoes.)

So the editors ran a TEN-PAGE PROFILE ABOUT A SURFER WITH A GIRL’S NAME (okay, that’s a cheap shot) with no related advertising.

I’m not going to make some wild claim about how “this illustrates everything that’s wrong with print and why all newspapers and magazines are going out of business.” Frankly, this editorial decision is so staggeringly bizarre that I don’t know what it means.

I do know that, if you go to SI’s website this morning, you can look over the entire front page and find no reference to surfing anywhere.

I also know that, in my world, we have a term for articles that are too long for an issue that doesn’t have enough ads. We call them “Part 1 of 2.”

Dam, straight.

I took a half-day, ran some errands, and then got home with plenty of time to work on my post about John Lanchester & the metaphors of risk and finance. Or I could’ve written up the rest of my notes about last week’s Las Vegas trip, and posted the pix from that. Or I could’ve sprawled out on the sofa, read some Plutarch, and let the afternoon drift by.

Instead, I drove Rufus out to the pet store and then took him on a walk across the Monksville Dam. Enjoy the pix:

Without Portfolio

Portfolio magazine, Condé Nast’s big business magazine, closed down today. Because it’s Condé Nast and because it was all about big money, people keep talking up the purported $100 million (or is that $150 million?) that was spent on this mag for fewer than two years of existence.

Anyway, everybody’s got some sort of post-mortem about it: Daniel Gross, Jon Fine, Megan McArdle, a former staffer. My two cents: they were stupid to launch a mass-market publication about unphotogenic finance wonks at a time when print is dying. I don’t think Condé likes the internet, because ads for luxury brands don’t look good on a computer screen, so they were stuck trying to sell luxury companies big money ads in a recession.

Maybe they’ll finally come around and support my magazine about comic books, basketball, and gin, especially since I don’t need $100 million to launch it. I could probably get by with $30 or $40 million.

What It Is: 4/27/09

What I’m reading: Plutarch’s Lives (Numa Pompilius, Solon, Poplicola and about half of Themistocles), Push Man and Other Stories, by Yoshihiro Tatsumi, Clyde Fans, Bk. 1, by Seth. Oh, and that new ish of Fantastic Man.

What I’m listening to: Not a lot. I watched The Wire on my Pod during both flights last week, and my two days back in the office were so hectic that I didn’t put any music on.

What I’m watching: The first season of The Wire again, Slumdog Millionaire, which must be Danny Boyle’s most sentimental movie, and Behavioral Problems the new Ron White standup show.

What I’m drinking: I had 2 beers in Vegas, and 1 G&T since returning.

What Rufus is up to: Not being happy with the sudden near-90 temps that we got this weekend. And giving free rides to the ticks of NJ.

Where I’m going: Nowhere this week, but I’ll probably take a day off and do all sorts of errands.

What I’m happy about: I went to a minor-league baseball game on my last night in Vegas, and had a fun time (pix and story to follow). And I’ll get to meet both Tatsumi and Seth (I hope) during my Toronto visit in two weeks.

What I’m sad about: Bea Arthur’s death, I guess. (Thanks, Tom!) UPDATE: a great tribute to Bea from the Fugly Girls!

What I’m worried about: Global pandemic.

What I’m pondering: How you tell if the raider is cheating.

No bailout

While I was in Vegas this week, I entertained the thought of giving up this blog, bailing on writing (but not my day job as an editor), and trying to find another pursuit/outlet.

Then two things happened. First, one of my best friends wrote out of the blue to tell me that my blog “keeps things interesting for me and expands my horizons.” Then, Roger Ebert wrote this post about his childhood home.

It doesn’t exactly work (although it has some beautiful evocations of what seems to be a very specifically American life), but its failure made me more forgiving of my own ineptitude. After all, if a lifetime reporter/critic/writer like Mr. Ebert struggles to make something like this work, then I shouldn’t feel so bad about my own shortcomings.

So you’re stuck with me, is what I’m saying. Thanks for reading.