I wanted to kill Ted Turner the first time I saw a greenish-skinned Bogart placing the letters of transit in Sam's piano. Though the fad of colorization of movies is now thankfully in the past, I will never get back my early teenage years in which I could have been fantasizing about Ingrid Bergman but wasn't due to the off-putting, alien hues of her modest but powerfully evocative décolletage.But I kind of like this story about a guy in New York who is creating near photo quality, in-action paintings of old baseball stars we only know in black and white. Why not?
I tend to think that many of the alleged problems alarmists point to in today's game are only considered such because they don't occur in rich sepia tones. Maybe illuminating the titans of yore with the full spectrum will convince a few people that it's the same game now as it was then.
