John Updike = The Ted Williams of writing

A couple weeks ago in Colorado, I was giddy with delight when I stumbled upon a hardcover copy of John Updike's "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu" in a bookshop.
"Hub Fans" is a magazine story chronicling Ted Williams's final game at Fenway Park, originally published in 1960 for The New Yorker. The fact it's been released in hardcover hints at its legendary status - it's been called the greatest magazine article in the history of sportswriting. Which is kind of crazy, because Updike wasn't a sportswriter per se. In fact, "Hub Fans" was his one and only foray into the sports genre.
I won't pretend I knew anything about Updike's career before I sat down to read this article, aside from being aware of the legendary nature of this particular piece. (Yes, I am the quintessential dumb jock.) Cliff's Notes on Updike: He's one of just three authors to win two Pulitzers for fiction. If that sort of thing impresses you. Which it should.
To suggest this post is a "review" of Updike's article would be the height of arrogance on my part. Consider it simply an appreciation.
Updike's prose flows. Nearing the climax of the story, the author casually mentions that batting, to Williams, is "his cherished task." Three simple words, and they reveal so much about the Red Sox legend. Watching through Updike's eyes as Williams (SPOILER ALERT!) hits a dramatic home run in the final at-bat of his career might be more fun than having been there in person.
In addition to the insights about Williams's career, Updike taught me something important about writing. In a passage lauding the Splendid Splinter's commitment to excellence every single time he stepped to the plate, Updike wrote the following:
"Baseball is a game of the long season, of relentless and gradual averaging-out. Irrelevance - since the reference point of most individual contests is remote and statistical - always threatens that interest, which can be maintained not by the occasional heroics that sportswriters feed upon but by players who always care; who care, that is to say, about themselves and their art. Insofar as the clutch hitter is not a sportswriter's myth, he is a vulgarity, like a writer who writes only for money."
Those are not the most thrilling sentences in the piece, but they contain the most interesting idea. To Updike, a batter who raises his concentration level in perceived "important" situations is a vulgarity. Striving for excellence in scenarios both thrilling and mundane is not just a matter of character, but the truest form of art.
This notion applies to me. If I intend to truly excel as a writer, I need to write not only for a paycheque, but because it's who I am and how I express myself. That's why it's a good idea for me to write this blog - to develop my voice as I write for recreation. It's a thought I've obviously had in the back of my mind, but Updike - who passed away in January 2009 - expressed it for me. He was a wise man.