On tv

The Twins! Country music! Impeachment! Who says there's nothing interesting on TV?

The Twins last night won their ninety-seventh game of the season. They're four games ahead of the Indians and, as both teams have five to play, the Twins can clinch the divisional title by winning two more games. They would clinch tonight if they were to win and the Indians lose. All is not tulips and roses, however. Through the long season the Twins have relied on five starting pitchers. Here they are, with their ERAs for the month of September: Odorizzi (3.3), Berrios (4.6), Perez (7.0), Gibson (9.9), and then Pineda, who hasn't pitched on account of the season-ending suspension he incurred for using a banned diuretic. This is not what's called "peaking at the right time." Last night, when Odorizzi was removed after pitching six innings, Gibson was inserted to try and protect the 4-1 lead. This was a little eye-opening, inasmuch as the day before the team hadn't played, so the bullpen was somewhat rested, and the Indians are still within range. The only thing I can make of it is that Gibson was auditioning for a spot on the post-season roster. He pitched the seventh and eighth innings, allowing one run. We're headed into the playoffs with a starting rotation of Odorizzi, Berrios (who's been shaky), and . . . there isn't anyone else with experience who over the past few weeks has been able to get major-league hitters out once in a while.

The highlight for me in Episode 6 of Ken Burns's country music film relates to the unusual biography of Kris Kristofferson. He was born at Brownsville, Texas, into a military family: his dad was an officer. The family moved around a lot, and Kristofferson graduated high school in San Mateo, California, before enrolling at Pomona College, a very selective and highly regarded private school in Claremont. He excelled, graduating summa cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa in addition to playing football and running track. He then attended Oxford University on a Rhodes Scholarship. After finishing a degree in English literature at Oxford, he continued the family tradition by enlisting in the US Army. He was commissioned as a second lieutenant, trained as a Ranger and helicopter pilot, and eventually attained the rank of captain. Upon completing a tour of duty in 1965, the Army assigned him to teach English literature at West Point, but instead he left the military and moved his young family to Nashville to pursue his interest in song writing and music. He scuffled for years, working at such menial jobs as janitor at a recording studio, where he would press his song sheets on unsuspecting stars. His wife divorced him. His parents thought he was acting irresponsibly and disowned him. By this time, Kristofferson had made the acquaintance of Johnny Cash, and, in the movie, he describes showing to Cash the letter he had received from his mother in which she lays out her opinion on his "career moves" and concludes that, if he persists, he will be dead to her and his dad. Cash scanned the letter, then looked up at Kristofferson and said, "It's always nice to get mail from home." 

So that is about the first 30 years in the life of the man who wrote "Me and Bobby McGee" and "Sunday Mornin' Coming Down"—not to mention scores of other hit songs, and his very distinguished career as a recording artist, and his equally distinguished career as an actor in motion pictures. Phi Beta Kappa. Rhodes Scholar. Army Ranger. Janitor, struggling artist, family outcast.

I'm sure there is a lot to say, and being said, about the "transcript" of Trump's phone conversation with the Ukrainian president. I've read it, here, and if the whistleblower's actual complaint is even worse for Trump, I can see why the Administration is declining to deliver it to Congress as the law requires. Apparently this Maguire guy, the acting Director of National Intelligence—they're all acting—was advised by the Department of Justice not to forward the complaint to Congress for investigation.  Now we see that in the phone conversation Trump told the Ukrainian president, in the context of this "favor" he was seeking, to expect a call from William Barr, the attorney general. Barr of course is the head of the Justice Department—which advised the acting DNI not to deliver the whistleblower's complaint to Congress. The stench is general. If only Trump would put on a tan suit.