Among the stack of books I'm reading is one called Soccer in Sun and Shadow by the Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano. I first heard about this book a couple of weeks ago, when I was at Haystack eating curry and talking about kids' soccer teams with potter Mark Shapiro, who set down his wineglass and proceeded to quote this line:

They say where [the goalkeeper] walks, the grass never grows.

Naturally I was spellbound. And now I'm delighted to report that the whole book is just as good. A stylistic cross between literary sportswriting and magical realism, it's organized into tiny chapters with titles such as "The Idol," "The Ball," "The Goal," and "From Mutilation to Splendor." These chapters are beautiful and elegiac yet also filled with irony, much of which is very funny. Here, for instance, is a paragraph from the chapter titled "The Language of Soccer Doctors," which is written in the language of soccer doctors:

It would be easy for us to evade our responsibility and attribute the home team's setback to the restrained performance of its players, but the excessive sluggishness they undeniably demonstrated in today's game each time they received the ball in no way justifies, understand me well ladies and gentlemen, in no way justifies such a generalized and therefore unjust critique. No, no, and no. Conformity is not our style, as those of you who have followed us during the long years of our career well know, not only in our beloved country but on the stages of international and even worldwide sport, wherever we have been called upon to fulfill our humble duty. So, as is our custom, we are going to pronounce all the syllables of every word: the organic potential of the game-plan pursued by this struggling team has not been crowned with success simply and plainly because the team continues to be incapable of adequately channelling its expectations for greater offensive projection in the direction of the enemy goal. We said as much only this past Sunday and we affirm it today, with our heads held high and without any hairs on our tongue, because we have always called a spade a spade and we will continue speaking the truth, though it hurts, fall who may, and no matter the cost.

Galeano's book chimes pleasantly with Dickens's and Melville's, not least because it deals with those same old themes: love and honor . . . yet more proof that there's nothing new to write about. But who cares?

And now it's time for the Garden and Cheaply Purchased Vegetables Update:

1. Having finally pulled all my carrots, I can announce that my garden has produced a substantial and often strangely shaped crop. If I weren't a Luddite and actually owned a digital camera, I would take a photo of Sexy Carrot Legs for you. As it is, you just have to fantasize.

2. At a local farmstand, I unearthed a great deal on hot red and yellow peppers: 99 cents a pound, as long as I bought at least 5 pounds. But what does one do with 5 pounds of hot peppers? I decided to pickle them, and they came out looking like jewels. If I were judging the canned goods at the Harmony Fair Exhibit Hall, I would give them a Best in Show ribbon.

3. It's been a good year for green storage cabbage. My garden is chockfull of heads as big as soccer balls. (You see? Today's disparate subjects do have a metaphoric connection.) My plan is to transform them into sauerkraut. I'm a little worried this will make my house smell bad while it's fermenting, but it can't be worse than the grilled Limburger sandwich Tom once made.