York’s back up is Lou Finney, because of his middle name, Klopsche. That’s a wonderful name for a ballplayer, Klopsche is. He boots the ball, and the coach yells, “Hey, you Klopsche,” thereby calling him a name and calling him at the same time.
The theme here is to get some excitement into the game of all-star selections. The possibilities are endless. We can classify people by height—the tallest jockeys, the shortest basketball players. Or ethnic background—the All-Time, All-Slavic Baseball Nine. Political persuasion—American Federalist Bowlers, the Trotskyite Tennis Team, Famous Free-Soiler Hurdlers.
The non-jocks, or the asportual, need not feel left out. All-star teams should not be limited to muscular people who sweat and chew abscess-producing tobacco. Jazz and other music polls, for example, are traditionally popular, even though they read as if those doing the selecting never heard of any musician who may have played before the day they sent in their entry. Why not the following?
The 10 Best US Presidents, five southpaws and five righties. A Secretaries of the Agriculture Hall of Fame roster. The Five Top Synagogue Custodians in the City of Kiev, 1850-1880. America’s Most Humorous Funeral-Home Ushers. This Year’s Cable-TV Discount-Furniture Touts. The Five Lowest Academic Achievers in Portia Law History. A Short But Outstanding List of Revere Politicians Who Never Took a Dime.
All-star selections must be open to all Americans. We’re talking access here, open covenants openly arrived at, community participation. So go ahead. Make up a list. For that matter, make up a category. Make up anything you want, and fill in the slots. Your rationale is no better or worse than the traditional reasoning used by the long-time practitioners of the craft. Make it up, fill it out, and… send it to the Herald.
