Big Hair in the Bay Area
No, this is not a picture of me on the way to my next reading — it’s John “The Count” Montefusco celebrating his new San Francisco Giants contract in March 1976 (on the heels of an impressive 1975 season in which he won the NL Rookie of the Year award and set a rookie strikeout record of 215 Ks) in the company of some of Hugh Hefner’s finest.
But I’ve currently got San Francisco on the brain because, on top of it being one of my favorite cities in the world for eating, drinking and strolling, I’m gonna be up there next week to read at the truly awesome Litquake Festival. I’m going to be reading from Big Hair & Plastic Grass on Friday, October 8 as part of It’s All Over But the Crying: A Night of Authors on Sports, which will also feature the august likes of Alan Black, Howard Bryant, Dan Fost, David Henry Sterry, Jason Turbow, and Michael Zagaris holding forth on all things sport-related. It’s happening at the Hemlock Tavern on 1131 Polk St; doors open at 6:30 pm, reading starts at 7 pm (no idea what the order of authors is, so please don’t ask me), and admission for this thoroughly entertaining evening is 10 bucks. But if you think you wanna check it out, don’t snail on it — the event will very likely sell out well before next Friday. Avoid disappointment by ordering your advance tix from Brown Paper Tickets. “The Count” would want it that way.
This is also something of a milestone event, in that it marks the last reading/BH&PG event I’m scheduled to do this year — and with baseball season winding down, I’m guessing that’s gonna be it for 2010. It’s been a helluva ride; thanks to the book, I’ve gotten to see a lot of old friends and make a lot of new ones. I’m still kinda processing it all, to be honest — I reckon I’ll write a “post-season wrap-up” in the next coupla weeks — but I’d like to thank everyone who’s bought, read, or otherwise supported this book for confirming that there is still a lot of love and appreciation out there for this amazing and complex period of baseball history. Mark Fidrych lives on, y’all…