Statues of baseball players: they’re not just the place where you meet your buddy who has the extra ticket or a convenient location for the pigeons to poop. They’re actually becoming an increasingly popular fixture in ballparks, and the New York Times is on it. (They’re always ON IT, actually).
For reasons that I can’t quite explain, but likely having to do with a fear of mortality and all of that, I have never been able to avoid thinking of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias” whenever I see a statue of some historical figure. I realize that the idea is to immortalize these men and women and serve as a reminder of their feats, but I always get an image of Earth in the post-Martian invasion, with these statutes consisting of two vast and trunkless legs of stone. Or bronze. Or whatever. It feels like we’re trying too hard to fight against time and deep in my heart, I know we’ll never win.
Sorry. I’ll admit that this is my particular neurosis, so I’ll just move along now.
Less morosely, I found the description of how some of the artists make these ballplayer statues to be quite neat. The examples of those crafted with reference to live models, as opposed to photos, are pretty cool:
I wonder if the stranger was flattered or insulted. Great ballplayer. Not the best body shape ever, though his statue is rather flattering.
Anyway, neat read.
