Maggie's Farm

Angell is the guy who helped me see the beauty of baseball. From The New Yorker, 2014: 

"I’m ninety-three, and I’m feeling great. Well, pretty great, unless I’ve forgotten to take a couple of Tylenols in the past four or five hours, in which case I’ve begun to feel some jagged little pains shooting down my left forearm and into the base of the thumb. Shingles, in 1996, with resultant nerve damage..."

The thing about the (past) New Yorker writers is that they were so engaging stylistically that you would read any long form article even if you had no interest in the topic - like golf course design.  That's the sign of a real writer.