Skip to main content

Bert Blyleven: Language Leavener

"Uribe's a guy you have to keep the ball down."


Poor Juan Uribe!  Or as Bert Blyleven pronounces his name:  Yew-reeb-ay.  


Bert is my favorite baseball color commentator.  He was a pretty good pitcher, and was recently, finally, elected to the Hall of Fame.  He might be elected again, someday, not for what he did as a pitcher, but for  the splendid way he is reshaping the English language.


Bert, who lives in Florida, likes to call himself a Californian, where he grew up.  You know, "My California math says that . . ." (whatever his arithmetic suggests.  


Bert has redefined the English language.  For one thing, he has decided that adverbs are entirely superfluous, although he is reported as having said, once, that "The weather is well today."  No one hits a ball well, though.  It was hit good.  We owe Bert, big time!  He has helped you and I get rid of all those "-ly" words:  gladly, helpfully.  And anytime you pair "him" or "her" or "them" with yourself, you have to say, "him and I", and so on.  "I" goes with somebody else.  Bert has helped you and I with that, too.  


He is modest.  He doesn't claim credit for having thought his way through grammar and syntax, but it shows.  Just between you and I, we owe a lot to he and baseball.  He has redefined what a sentence is, too.  You surely recall that sentences used to have nouns and verbs and a bunch of other stuff that modify something, but Bert has analyzed all that complex stuff pretty good, and he demonstrates that a sentence is what happens when you start to talk, and ends when you take a breath, usually.  


Look, Juan Uribe hits pitches up and around his waist:  he hits high pitches!  "Uribe is a guy you have to keep the ball down."


You know, if the ball comes up Uribe, you have to stuff it back down.  Think up-chuck, and stuff-down!


Usually, we get the idea, sometimes even when it isn't there.  

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Friends-- My step-father of 35 years died this morning. His name was Conrad Royksund. He was 86 years old. He was born into poverty on a farm near Puyallup, WA. He was the first member of his family to attend college and earned a PhD from the University of Chicago. He paid his way through all of that by fishing in Alaska. He spent his professional career as a college professor. I met him when I was just 3 years old and don't actually have any memories of my life befor e he was in it. He was intimidatingly smart, funny as hell, and worked his ass off. He taught me to meet people with kindness and decency until I was certain they could not be trusted. He taught me to meet ideas with carving knives until I was certain they could. I will remember him as one of the bravest, most curious, and funniest people I have ever met. He left this world with a satisfied mind. We are so grateful. Dan Hubbard

Caliche Busters and Government Work

When I was young and both stronger and smarter than I am now, I put my might and brain to work doing nothing useful, unless it might be thought that hand/foot/eye coordination might come in handy.  Those were skills to be learned and practiced.   I found an iron bar our grandfather had shaped in his blacksmith shop.  He took old car, truck, or wagon axles, and made tools from them for digging post holes.  He sharpened one end to a tip, and the other to a blade.  Washington State, like many places, had a hard layer of soil, probably created by water and limestone, or some such materials, that made digging holes a miserable chore.  The bar chipped through the natural concrete so that a shovel could take it up.   I found Grandpa's iron bar, and since I was young and dumb and strong--or so I thought--decided to punch a hole down to hardpan and ultimate truth.  I knew how to do that.  Raise the bar vertically with both hands, and then slam in straight down.  On the second try, aimi

The Sea is Rising

Let us just step back:  two hundred and fifty years ago, or so, the ships of England and Spain had drifted onto a whole new continent, as they saw it, from far north to a savagely cold south; pole to pole, as if there were such things. Millions of people already lived here, some of them still hunters and gatherers; some of them very wealthy, indeed!  Gold and silver stolen from the southern Americas funded Spanish and English dreams. There was land, lots of land, under starry skies above, rich land, and oil and coal and iron ore.  The whole western world learned how to build industries not on simple muscle power, but on steam and oil.  We farmed, too, of course.  All we needed was cheap labor--slave labor from Africa, mostly, so the ships came with slave labor.  Chinese labor built railroad beds where there had been rock cliffs. Europeans, long used to killing each other for good, religious reasons, brought their religious savagery with them.  Even when all they wanted to do w