Interview with Rafe Bartholomew, Author of Pacific Rims

A few weeks ago, I reviewed Pacific Rims by Rafe Bartholomew. Even after the first few pages, I could tell the book would make a lasting impression on me. There are the portraits of athletes throughout the book and the Filipino culture that are both entertaining and enlightening. Then there is Bartholomew’s writing that reveals his passion to learn about the nuances of Filipino basketball, athletes, and culture. The words become evidence of an author who truly loves his subject. Recently, Bartholomew was kind enough to answer a few of my questions about Pacific Rims. Also, be sure to check out more about the author at his website, RafeBartholomew.com.

Is there anything you’d like readers to know about you before diving into Pacific Rims?
My background is that I was born and raised in lower Manhattan, which nowadays people probably associate more with litigious talent than hoops skills, but back in the early nineties we had a lot of good players downtown, most notably Smush Parker, who was my teammate on traveling teams until we were about 16. Anyway, I grew up playing and loving basketball, and when I learned about the sport’s role in Philippine culture, I went out there on not much else but inspiration and faith that I’d find the basketball-mad country of my dreams there.

Given the in-depth nature of your research into another culture (I think you referred to it as “amateur anthropology”), I’m sure you gathered a great deal of material for this book. Can you describe the process of deciding what to include and cut out?
Yes, my amateur bona fides are legit. But since academics have tended to overlook basketball’s place in Philippine society, I was happy to dive in and do my best. Over three years, the xeroxed newspaper and magazine articles, gigabytes of audio interviews, and spiral-bound reporter’s notebooks certainly piled up. I tend to write with a pretty loose outline, sketching out a theme for each chapter in my head and a couple scenes I plan to include, and then let it flow from there. Alaska’s 2007 season, being the narrative backbone of the book, determined a lot of what made it into and out of the book. I think having that arc makes Pacific Rims a better read, but it also made it hard to fit in a lot of PBA history that just would have taken me too far away from the narrative to explain.

I would have loved to write more about some of the great players and moments in PBA history—Ramon Fernandez, Samboy Lim, Bong Alvarez, Allan Caidic, and many more. Instead, they’re mentioned very briefly. And then there are the players who aren’t all-timers but who just appealed to me—imports like Shawn Daniels and Anthony Johnson and local oddities like Ryan Bernardo and Jimwell Torion. I wish I could write about all of them. Hopefully, someday I will.

You wrote about the differences in how the homegrown Filipinos, Filipino-Americans, and even the import players interacted with each other. Was there a difference in the way these players interacted with you?
For sure. A lot of the time imports just seemed happy to be talking to someone else from back home. Even though Fil-Am players also grew up in the States, they tend to have very settled lives in Manila, with stately homes, large families, and household employees to oversee. They just don’t have as much time to sit around and gab after practice. Imports are in the opposite situation. Aside from basketball, their entire lives are thousand miles away, so they have all the time in the world to go shopping, watch bootleg DVDs, sleep, or, in my case, spend afternoons and evenings telling me about their experiences.

Fil-Am players were easy to get along with. We shared a lot of cultural touchstones—often the players were only a few years older than me and had grown up listening to the same music, watching the same movies, and admiring the same basketball players. We usually had an easy time relating to each other.

Because of language and cultural differences, it probably took the most time to get to know the born-and-raised Pinoy players. These guys were often the most courteous members of a team. They would always greet me when I arrived and left from practice, and they’d make small talk about what I’d done the previous night, etc. But they seemed the least comfortable in direct interviews, partly because my Tagalog was not as strong in 2007 as it is today and also because there isn’t a very strong tradition of probing sports journalism in the Philippines, so when I asked for an “interview” they often thought of a 90-second quickie about the upcoming game, while I was thinking of a 90-minute session that included questions about their childhood and where they first played and all kinds of things that usually didn’t come up when they spoke with the media. Over time, however, we got more and more comfortable with each other and I was able to learn a lot about the players through direct interviews and regular old observation.

Describe the process of selling American publishers a book on Philippine basketball.
I didn’t exactly have agents and publishers banging down my door for a chance to sell this book. Awareness of Philippine anything—not just basketball—is woefully low here in the States. I received several rejections telling me that I had a really interesting story to tell but that they feared there was just no audience for it. It took more than two years from the time I signed with my literary agent to the day that I received an offer for Pacific Rims, and in between came several rounds of proposals and rejections. I never got too phased by it, however, because I really loved what I was doing (playing ball, following a pro team around, living in Quezon City) and I felt pretty confident that eventually, some editor would see the project the same way I did. It didn’t matter how many publishers rejected me as long as one of them didn’t.

Was it difficult to get acclimated to the culture in the Philippines?
It’s hard to answer this question, because my brain now tells me that I feel more at home in the Philippines than anywhere else and it can’t really make room for other realities. But if you look at my early blog posts from the Philippines, I think you can chart my acclimation, from a typical, semi-thoughtful visitor who had never lived in a developing country before to someone who’s interested in writing about something deeper than quirky nicknames and technicolor jeepneys.

How much Tagalog did you pick up during your time there?
Over the years I became a very adequate Tagalog speaker. I get a lot of compliments for my language skills, not all of which I think I deserve. Because most foreigners put forth so little effort in picking up Tagalog or any other Philippine language, the handful of people who manage any respectable level of proficiency get plaudits up the wazoo. I think if I were Filipino American and spoke the same exact Tagalog as I do today, people would consider it decent but also tell me endlessly how stilted my grammar was and how foreign my accent sounded. Still, I’m very proud that I can converse fluidly in the language, as well as read and write it pretty well, and I’m still studying so hopefully I will only get better.

It wouldn’t be very Filipino of me if I didn’t ask you about the numerous mentions of food throughout the book. Tell me about the best/worst foods you ate in the Philippines.
The best food, hands down, was the seafood. Crabs in coconut milk, grilled tilapia and lapu-lapu with tomatoes and onions stuffed inside, squid adobo. It was always fresh, unbelievably cheap, and unfailingly delicious. But I miss street food—squid balls, barbecued pork intestines, bananacue, and kwek-kwek—the most. The only thing I had a hard time eating was papaitan, a stew with broth made from goat bile. Serious gag reflex there.

What will you write about next?
I’m not sure. I’d love to continue writing about the Philippines. Every day in the country I felt like I saw something that would make a great story. But as we already talked about, it’s not always the easiest sell. Hopefully, after Pacific Rims, the publishing world will be a little more open to books and articles about the Philippines.

*Author photo is from the Pacific Rims Facebook page.

Baseball Fan Interviews: Theo Sery

For my story, “Cheering Out of a Suitcase,” featured in the May edition of Norman Einstein’s, I emailed a few people who have moved around the country to discuss their relationships with their hometown teams. Since I wasn’t able to use their complete interviews in the story, I thought I’d share their full insights here. Today’s post spotlights Theo Sery.

Theo is a friend of mine whom I met during my undergraduate years at Oregon State University. He now lives in Alaska, where he is getting his Masters in English. He will soon be pursuing his Ph.D at Indiana University in Pennsylvania, so he’ll have more moving and baseball to add to this wonderful story.

I’m going to do something a little different with Theo’s interview. I’ve removed my questions and let Theo’s words tell the story. His emails were so insightful and full of vivid images that I wanted to remove myself from the text and let his story tell itself.


My name is Theo Sery. Whenever I am asked where I am from, I am puzzled because I grew up in so many places. However, since most of my family is from Wisconsin and I spent my high school years there, I always say that I am from Wisconsin. It is where my mind goes when I think of home.

I am a die-hard fan of the Milwaukee Brewers. My grandfather, Ambrose Sery, helped build the former County Stadium, and ever since I can remember, we would go to the games in summer and would wait outside for autographs. In fact, I remember in 1987 when Grandpa passed away, we all piled into cars after the funeral, still dressed in our funeral attire, and went and cheered on the crew. I’ll never forget the stares! In fact, I believe that was the day that Robin Yount signed my program. I cannot say for certain, but I am sure he was confused as to why someone would dress their child in a suit and tie for a summer afternoon game!

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Baseball Fan Interviews: Ted Walker

For my story, “Cheering Out of a Suitcase,” featured in the May edition of Norman Einstein’s, I emailed a few people who have moved around the country to discuss their relationships with their hometown teams. Since I wasn’t able to use their complete interviews in the story, I thought I’d share their full insights here. Today’s post spotlights Ted Walker.


Ted Walker is a Seattle-based writer. He writes for Norman Einstein’s, Pitchers & Poets, and Every Day Ichiro.

Where are you from? Where are you living now?
I am originally from Houston, Texas, where I was born and grew up and then went back to after college, so I’ve spent a lot of my life there. I left because I went to grad school and wanted to live in other cities, like Chicago and like Seattle, where I live now. I’ve always been on my way out of Houston, for whatever reason.  I moved to Seattle about 9 months ago, and I’ve never lived on the West Coast before, so it’s all quite new to me.  

What team do you follow?
I’m first and foremost an Astros fan. It’s my childhood team, though I didn’t really track them carefully until my high school years. I moved to New England from ages 9-12, which is a crucial time to tap into a team, so I sort of missed out on that in Houston. But later on I really got into the team big time. 

What made you a fan?
They were the hometown team, first off, so there is the sense of history and connectedness and just the fact that they are the hometown team. But the other factor for my resurgence of fandom during high school that I mentioned above was that my best friend was (and is) a huge Astros fan, so we spent a lot of time talking about them and going to the Astrodome for 4 dollar seats and having a good time shooting the shit about the Astros. Some of the best times, in fact, in those days, were Astros-related with my friend.  

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Baseball Fan Interviews: Ryan Pfleiderer

For my story, “Cheering Out of a Suitcase,” featured in the May edition of Norman Einstein’s, I emailed a few people who have moved around the country to discuss their relationships with their hometown teams. Since I wasn’t able to use their complete interviews in the story, I thought I’d share their full insights here. Today’s post spotlights Ryan Pfleiderer.


Ryan Pfleiderer is a student at Emerson College in Boston. He hosts the sports talk radio show Overtime on ETIN every Monday night from 8-10pm ET. Tune in here.

Where are you from? Where are you living now?
I’m from Palo Alto, CA, about 40 minutes outside of San Francisco and 30 minutes outside of San Jose. I’ve lived there for my whole life, so 19 years now. I’m now living in Boston, MA to attend college at Emerson College. I’ve been in Boston for 2 years now, and it’s been great so far.

What teams do you follow?
I follow the San Francisco Giants, Golden State Warriors, San Jose Sharks, and believe it or not, the Tennessee Titans. But my favorite sport to watch is baseball, so the Giants are my favorite team.

What made you a fan?
I went to my first Giants game when I was 8. My parents took me to Candlestick Park when they were playing the St. Louis Cardinals. I got to see Mark McGwire hit one of his 70 home runs during that crazy 1998 baseball season. But the Giants ended up winning the game, and ever since then I’ve been a die-hard fan.

How do you follow your team now?
It’s very difficult to follow the Giants now; most of their games start at 10 ET, and none of them are televised in Boston unless they’re on ESPN, but that’s rare. So as of right now, I have to “watch” the game by using ESPN Gamecast or MLB.com’s Gameday, which basically does a play-by-play without the visuals. I try to listen to the games online, but that doesn’t always work. So it’s difficult to keep up with the games because most of them end after midnight, and if I have to wake up for early classes, I have to shut down my computer and then hopefully read in the morning that they won. I’ll always watch Sportscenter in the morning to see the highlights of the game.

Has moving away altered your perception of your team and/or city in any way?
Moving away from San Francisco has actually strengthened my relationship with the Giants. I take pride in being a Giants fan because almost everyone in Boston is a Red Sox fan. I feel more special walking around wearing a Giants shirt because I’m most likely the only one wearing Giants apparel in Boston. Every now and then I’ll see someone wearing a Giants hat and I’ll stop them for a quick conversation about the team. I have to deal with Red Sox fans telling me how bad the Giants have been in recent years, so it’s up to me to defend my team.

Have you adopted the team of your new city? Why/why not?
I’ve been to a few Red Sox games at Fenway, and every time I go, I feel like I have to root for them. I have no real attachment to the team, so it’s hard to be invested in the games, but as long as they’re not playing the Giants, I’ll be a Red Sox fan.

Other thoughts:
- I had one encounter with Barry Bonds when I was 9. I was at a shoe store with my Mom and my brother, and he was in the store with us. We ended up talking with him for a while, and he told my brother what pair of shoes to buy. He was extremely nice, nothing like the press made him out to be. For me, Bonds was one of my favorite players. I saw him hit no. 73, and I’ll never forget that moment.

- There’s a huge difference between Boston fans and San Francisco fans. Everyday you see people wearing Red Sox apparel. It’s hard to miss them. In San Francisco there are not as many people sporting the orange and black. Not to mention that Boston fans are a lot rowdier than Giants fans. Both Fenway and AT&T sell out almost every game, but the atmosphere is completely different here. There’s a lot more yelling, a lot more tension between Sox fans and the visiting team’s fans. In San Francisco, we let the scoreboard do the arguing for us. Most fans don’t get into it with each other. We’re just as passionate about our team, we just show it in a different way. AT&T Park is a lot more family-friendly; they have a giant slide out in left field and a small ballpark where little kids can play. The beer is also a lot more expensive, so maybe that has something to do with it too. And Fenway offers the usual ballpark fare, hot dogs, peanuts, etc, but at AT&T you have your choice between a Caribbean Cha Cha bowl (rice, black beans, marinated pork, all the good stuff), fresh Gilroy garlic fries, and organic kielbasa sausage. It’s definitely a different experience at AT&T.

- I’ve thought about moving back to the San Francisco area, and if everything works out, I’ll end up living there later on in life. My dream is to have season tickets to the Giants, so I’ll have to live there in order to make sure that works out. I may try and get involved in sports management and perhaps, if the stars align, I could work for the Giants. It’s a little too early to plan out my future, but if I have the choice, I would love to be back in the Bay Area. Nothing beats living there; you’ve got great sports, great weather, good food, and a vibrant community.

Baseball Fan Interviews: Walt McGough

For my story, “Cheering Out of a Suitcase,” featured in the May edition of Norman Einstein’s, I emailed a few people who have moved around the country to discuss their relationships with their hometown teams. Since I wasn’t able to use their complete interviews in the story, I thought I’d share their full insights here. First up, Walt McGough.



Walt McGough is a Boston- and Chicago-based playwright. He co-founded the Sideshow Theatre Company in Chicago, and also works closely with Chicago Dramatists and The Boston Playwrights Theatre.

Where are you from? Where are you living now?
I grew up in Pittsburgh, and the last few years I’ve moved around a fair amount. I went to college at the University of Virginia, and after that I moved out to Chicago for three years to work in theatre and start a company with some friends. I’m currently in Boston, getting my MFA.

What team did you follow?
The Pittsburgh Pirates: the best minor-league team in major-league baseball.

What made you a fan?
Two words: Doug Drabek. I went to a bunch of games with my dad growing up, and we somehow got tickets to Game 5 of the NLCS against the Reds in 1990. I had an airbrushed t-shirt with Doug Drabek’s face on it (it was a giveaway) and I remember both loving it and, even at the age of six, thinking he looked completely ridiculous. They won that game in a nail-biter, and even though they lost the next game and were knocked out, I remember being in the stands and everybody just holding their breath until the last double play, when the whole crowd went absolutely crazy.

Of course, shortly after that everybody got traded and the dark ages began, and I started the long adolescent process of discovering that I was terrible at baseball myself (I was the scorekeeper in eight grade; that was the low point), so for a while I fell out of fandom a bit. But I always loved baseball, and right around college I found myself following the Pirates really closely again, online.

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Interview with Michael Oriard, Sports Scholar and Former NFL Player

Michael Oriard is a Distinguished Professor of American Literature and Culture and the Associate Dean of the College of Liberal Arts at Oregon State University. A former Notre Dame and Kansas City Chiefs center, Oriard pursued his Ph.D during the offseasons throughout his NFL career and has gone on to publish many books and articles on the relationship between sports and American culture, including Sporting With the Gods: The Rhetoric of Play and Game in American Culture, Reading Football: How the Popular Press Created an American Spectacle, King Football: Sport and Spectacle in the Golden Age of Radio and Newsreels, Movies and Magazines, the Weekly and the Daily Press, and Brand NFL: Making and Selling American’s Favorite Sport. His book, The End of Autumn: Reflections on My Life in Football was originally published in 1982 and republished in July of this year. I just read it, and I would recommend it to anyone, sports fan or not. Yes, it is about football, but to say the book is only about football would be selling it short. It is also about life, finding oneself, and the way sports interacts with the American populace. It just so happens that football is how he was able to find himself. The writing is sometimes cinematic, especially when describing the often overlooked offensive line battles with amazing detail and clarity, and always honest, absorbing the reader completely. Recently, Professor Oriard was kind enough to answer some of my questions.

A major theme throughout the The End of Autumn is the heroism of playing football and how those “heroic illusions” become “deflated” in the NFL. Is this a realization that occurred to you while playing or something you became aware of in retrospect or during the writing process?

After my near story-book experience at Notre Dame (where I was wholly caught up in the mystique of the place), playing in the NFL was in itself “deflating.” Whether I consciously thought of it in those terms while I was playing is another question. I doubt it.

One of the most striking things in the book is the way you write so openly and honestly about football and team relationships that usually remain hidden from the public. Did you ever have any reservations about writing about yourself or your teammates and coaches this way?

In writing about myself, I consciously maintained a boundary between the public and the private, deciding just how much of my private self I was willing to expose, and no more. In writing about my teammates, I was very conscious of not simply using them for my own purposes; I was willing to be more frank about teammates and relationships in the abstract than about individual teammates by name. In writing about my coaches, I faced a challenge in that they could not remain anonymous. In writing about Ara Parseghian and my other coaches at Notre Dame, there was no problem, because I had nothing but positive things to say about them. In writing about my high school coach and about Hank Stram in Kansas City, I simply tried to be fair—with Hank in particular, as generous as I could be while still being honest. I believed that honesty was an obligation once I chose to write the book.

You write that “the football team is in many ways the heart of the university…the center of student enthusiasm and emotional involvement.” Why do you think football (and athletics in general) has this role and such a lasting effect on students both during and beyond their college careers?

University leaders discovered as early as the 1890s that the popular enthusiasm for college football could be exploited to promote and build their institutions. Football was an integral part of American higher education as it developed over the twentieth century, not something tacked on. And individual institutions developed their own local football cultures within the national football culture. Football in particular and athletics in general became the center of “college life,” the Greek system, and the social calendar on campuses; as such, it became the principal connection of many alumni to their alma maters. American universities became known (and remain known) to outsiders mostly by their football (and more recently basketball) teams; I doubt that most faculty and administrators would choose for this to be the case, but it’s what we have.

You’re now a professor at Oregon State University; are you involved with Oregon State athletics or any of the academic programs that support student-athletes?

No. When I arrived at OSU in 1976, I feared that word would get out that there was a jock in the English department, and I’d have every athlete on campus in my classes expecting an easy time. It didn’t happen, but I retained a wariness against involving myself in athletics. I also was conscious virtually from the day I left football of not being an ex-jock who lives in his past and needs to hang around players and teams. I have informally mentored a few genuine student-athletes who sought me out, but except for a one-term appointment as acting director of academic services in the athletic department, I have had no formal involvement with OSU athletics.

How, if at all, do you feel the student-athlete has changed since your college career?

When I was at Notre Dame in the late 1960s, I received the best education that my institution offered, while playing college football at the highest level. I doubt that that is even possible today, because of the greater demands on “student-athletes’” time, and because the larger sports culture has so changed that it has become increasingly unlikely that an athlete good enough to play at the highest level will arrive at college with academics as his highest priority.

How has the game, both college and the NFL, changed from when you played?

I’ve pointed toward an answer with the previous question. And college football has changed because the NFL has changed. As the average salary in the NFL increased from around $20,000 in 1970 to nearly $2 million today, somewhere along the line a boundary was crossed, at which point the possibility of playing in the NFL overwhelmed every other consideration for a college football player. The money is directly a consequence of the media. I grew up with three national TV networks and “The Game of the Week.” ESPN and the rest of the cable sports networks, at the center of a 24/7 world of sports media (which is now expanding even more into the blogosphere) have generated not just revenue but a depth and breadth of attention to sports that was inconceivable in my playing years.

You write about football providing you with an identity, especially in college, but you say in the NFL, you thought of yourself as a graduate student who happened to play football. How did this transition happen?

Football provided me with an identity during my adolescence, when the confirmation of my success at Notre Dame helped me navigate the typical adolescent anxieties. I arrived in the NFL without thinking I had anything to prove; what had happened at Notre Dame was sufficient. (And had I been unsuccessful at football at Notre Dame, I would have navigated my adolescence in a different way. I was fortunate in my family, my upbringing, and my early education.) In college I also had an identity as a student and as whatever my education would eventually lead to. After graduation that identity remained important, while my athletic identity had served its purpose and was no longer necessary. I should add that my “identity” today includes being a former football player. What I have been informs who I am.

Do you feel that football has a greater impact on American culture than other sports? If so, why do you think that is?

Since the 1960s (a Harris poll in 1965, to be precise), professional football has been recognized as Americans’ favorite spectator sport. Pro football currently outpolls Major League Baseball about two to one, with college football number three, ahead of the pro and college basketball, hockey, NASCAR, and the rest. What exactly it is about football that so appeals is a matter for speculation and debate. I would point to the fact that each game of a 16-game season matters more than 162 MLB games or 81 NBA games. I would emphasize football’s relationship to a seemingly widespread desire for intense experience. And I would also point to the relationship between football and masculinity in this country. By a different definition, baseball has had a greater impact on “American culture” in that it has spawned considerably more literary art—fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. There is a long tradition for explaining this by baseball’s leisurely pace, pastoral and cerebral nature, connection to fathers and sons, and so on.

Why do sports in general seem to have such a large influence on American culture?

I would point to my comment in the previous answer about the longing for intense experience. It’s a cliché that sport is life with the volume turned up. That’s an apt description (and a not-yet-clichéd corollary follows that football is life at 500 decibels with a massive subwoofer). Sports generate narratives that address the most fundamental dimensions of human existence (symbolic good and evil, life and death, heroism and sacrifice, etc.), with a clarity in the contest and the outcome that is utterly missing from ordinary human existence. With their unscripted plots and uncertain outcomes, sporting events provide entertainment that reaches much deeper than mere entertainment. In today’s fragmented media university, where “mass culture” has given way to niche cultures, sports come closest to constituting an actual common culture.

How do certain cultures, (regional or racial cultures, for example) influence sports and vice versa?

Sport in its fundamental nature is local and tribal: my team against yours, home confronting invaders. Local cultures become imprinted on local sports, as in small-town high school football or college football and NASCAR in the South. Racial cultures are “local” by a different definition. The most obvious in the U.S., of course, is our sense of a distinctive African American style, particularly in basketball and football. Nationally televised sport, through which viewers far removed from the NFL or MLB or NBA teams they root for, runs counter to this fundamental local nature (and probably means that these sports move away from “sport” and more toward “entertainment”).

Even in 1982, when the book was first published, you wrote that football was becoming less about the sport and more about entertainment. What are your thoughts on football and the NFL now, 27 years later?

I seem always to be anticipating the next question. Yes, when I wrote in The End of Autumn that NFL football was becoming more about entertainment, I had no idea that cable television in general and ESPN in particular (and SportsCenter even more particularly) would soon be transforming our sports culture, a process that is now moving to the Internet as well. What the players do remains real, and this is the source of NFL football’s power, but as the NFL markets its brand ever more aggressively a question inevitably arises, whether it risks undermining the sport by appealing to an ever-wider audience as entertainment. My recent book, Brand NFL, explores this possibility.

Given the extreme media coverage on sports now, I’m curious about what the team’s relationship with reporters was like when you played.

I had a sense that my teammates regarded the local reporters essentially as parasites, while the local reporters generally resented having to cater to nonintellectual physical performers. I suspect that that fundamental relationship continues in part, but what’s new today is the increased celebrity of some players and the increased celebrity as well of some reporters—the TV guys who are stars themselves. The power of the media to create celebrities gives these celebrity reporters and studio hosts a kind of status and power beyond anything that even the premier sportswriters of my day in New York and Los Angeles had.

Regarding the subject of players as employees and the effect football has on players, such as their shortened life expectancies, what has the NFL and NFLPA done to help players during and after their playing careers?

Over just the last couple of years, damaged former NFL players have succeeded in calling public attention to the long-term consequences of even short-term playing careers. These players create an interesting dilemma for the NFL and NFLPA—“interesting,” that is, beyond the real human misery they represent—in that it confronts them with the prospect of assuming financial responsibility for a player’s lifetime after just a few years in the league. The NFLPA is chiefly responsible to current, not former, players, yet it has systematically improved the benefits of retired players with each new labor contract. (Gene Upshaw became furious at the criticism of former players who would not acknowledge these efforts on their behalf.) The NFL and NFLPA truly became partners as much as adversaries with the 1993 labor agreement, and both of them cannot afford to appear uncaring toward former players. (The fact that labor peace is now threatened does not really change that fact.) This concern about the NFL “brand,” in fact, is the most powerful factor working on the former players’ behalf, and both the NFL and the NFLPA have recently addressed the need for more research on concussions and for streamlining the process of applying for disabilities payments.

You write that you let go of football and football let go of you, but do you miss it?

Some 35 years after I left football, it is too distant a part of my past for me to “miss” it. But I periodically have dreams in which I’m somehow playing again, invariably under very strange circumstances, so perhaps there is some part of my unconscious that misses it. At my age and with my physical ailments (that are most likely a consequence of my having played football for so many years), I find it increasingly strange that I once did what I did in college and the NFL.

I noticed that the colors of the hardcopy of Brand NFL are orange and black, did you have a say in making this book Oregon State colors?

Orange and black? Not my copy. In any case, I had no say about the cover design (though if I had complained about it when it was proposed to me, I assume my objections would have been considered).

You have a book coming out in October, Bowled Over, about college football; can you tell me a little bit about it?

My new book is a companion to Brand NFL. They started out as a single manuscript on football since the 1960s, until it became apparent that the subject was too large and that the NFL and college football were different (though related) worlds. Bowled Over is divided into two parts: the first on college football in the 1960s, with an emphasis on the integration of the Southeastern Conference and the black protests on northern campuses in the late 1960s; the second on the continuing struggle since the 1960s to untangle the contradiction at the heart of an extracurricular activity conducted as a popular entertainment. Criticism of distorted priorities in college football is nearly as old as the game itself, and I took on this topic somewhat reluctantly. But doing so forced me to come to terms with my own ambivalence about a sport that benefited me enormously but fails too many others, and it completed my multi-volume cultural history of American football.

*Photo courtesy of Oregon State University

Themed by Hunson and Five Gorillas