NEWBERG REPORT PLUS: Synchronicity
Stewart Copeland was no different from Greg Maddux, killing not with power but with precision. The left-handed grip was as unmistakable as Yastrzemski’s stance, or Tekulve’s delivery. But above all, like Maddux, he was consistently dominant, if bespectacled and in all other respects just as unimposing.
Sting was Roger Clemens, holding forth with a confidence that has morphed into arrogance, in age-defying physical shape and still able to do on his own stage what very few 20 years his junior can do. A sellout? Maybe. But still worth paying to see. (And like Koby Clemens, I had low expectations for Joe Sumner, figuring his opportunity was merely a nepotistic instance of waking up on third base, so to speak. But like the younger Clemens, Sting’s kid might actually have something – Fiction Plane was pretty good, in a Soundgarden/Killers kind of way, with hints of U2 and Nirvana.)
Andy Summers was Mariano Rivera. (Ya know?)
I was driving home, feeling pretty sure that when I wake up Wednesday morning, the newspaper experts will proclaim their super-turbo-intelligence and tell me that the concert I was at was lousy, that the Police are nothing at this point but shadows (on the door? in the rain?), exploiting a susceptible fan base. That I was essentially wrong for having a kick-*** time at a kick-*** show.
Then I learned that the Rangers did it again, winning improbably in Detroit. Like the rest of this stretch of good baseball, it will probably be nothing but a footnote for many in the local sports media, if not an opportunity for some of them to chastise those of us who continue to give everything we’ve got to this team, to condemn us for sticking with it.
I probably won’t read the concert reviews in the morning, and with a few exceptions I’ll continue to skip the columns and the talk show segments that zero in on the Rangers.
If I’m wrong to have had a blast at the Police concert, or to forget about the standings the minute the first pitch is thrown each night, don’t bother telling me.
You make the best of what’s still around.