Furman Bisher is very, very old: 89, in fact, and still writing columns for the AJC. To be very, very honest, we respect his longevity but have never particularly enjoyed his work, making him the Bob Dylan of Atlanta sportswriting: around, allegedly legendary, and never really doing anything for us. Then again, when we were growing up he was already sixty, so admittedly we've never seen him close to his fastball.
The rule at the AJC has been, since time immemorial: Cut Bisher and die. This seems an immensely stupid rule for anyone, since if you line up at a typewriter every day you're bound to make mistakes. (See our corrections, or perhaps this entire blog for examples thereof.) However, it might be time for someone to begin at least proofing what the guy types before entering "RUN" or whatever command publishes on the FORTRAN-rigged website the AJC has:
"Eight springs ago the Mets and Cubs opened the season, not in Cincinnati. Guess where? Tokyo. That Tokyo, the guys who gave us Pearl Harbor. Some people dont like you to bring that up, trade with Japan is so hot. But Ive got a long memory. I saw what a few bombs can do to our property."
Gadzooks: not only does Bisher anachronistically invoke the Rising Sun paranoia of the late eighties (The japanese will own your brain! They'll own everything!), he...he says that. Rather than fire up the facile righteous indignation wagon, we simply sent a tattered rising sun flag and this note in an envelope to Bisher at the AJC this morning instead.
Deal Westeln Devir,
Ah, Fulman Bishah. YOU DEFAME THE NATION OF JAPAN AND HER EMPERAH! DIE LOUND-EYE! You wirr diee rike the nastee buttah-stink devir you all when the mighty Japanese navy sairs into Atranta and bulns your house down! Fuck your Babe Luth! Divine winds wirr take your soul to herr, lound-eye! My bayonet wirr lun led with your brood, Bishah, for your insorence!
Yours most poritery,
Lieutenant Hideo Takeda
Zambales Mountains, Philippines.
When Furman Bisher takes the red-eye to Manila later this week with a flint-lock rifle, a canteen, and a map in hand, and you hear laughter emanating from the Atlanta area, that would be us.