Hmm: How Would Murray Do This?

I grew up as a sports fan in L.A. wanting to do two things:

1. Read Jim Murray every morning.

2. Write like Jim Murray.

Goal-achievement-wise, I batted .500. You can’t write like Murray any more than you can sing like Sinatra. I finally figured that out and muddled down my own path. But in a pinch, I still ask myself, “How would Murray handle this?”

For sure he would never nonchalant a column, would never do the columnist equivalent of failing to run out a ground-ball. He worked hard to be unique; his were the typewriter keys less traveled.

I’d ask myself at a World Series, would Murray regurgitate some boilerplate quotes from the star pitcher, or would he tap his own powers of observation and creativity to paint the big picture?

Would Murray wake up trying to figure out who he could destroy that day, or would he find something that moved him and capture that person or event in ink for his readers?

Damn, that guy was good. And not a jerk about it. Jim was as impressed with his own writing as he was with the night life in Minneapolis. It was a pleasure--an honor for me--to sit next to him in a press box.

When I heard Jim had died, I thought of the time Sandy Koufax pitched a no-hitter and reporters dashed into the clubhouse for the postgame interview. But no Sandy.

“Have you seen Koufax?” a writer asked another Dodger.

“He got called up to a higher league,” the player said.