Sports are a forte. Bjorn Borg came to town with the tennis Legends, and Hoffman took him on. Won one point, a clean forehand passing shot. The Harlem Globetrotters made their annual visit and there was Hoffman going 0 for 3 with the opposition Generals (but nobody de-pantsed him). Heâs even tried pro wrestling, although how that ended he canât quite remember. (He was carried out on a stretcher.)
But his subjects arenât confined to food, sports, and travel. Thereâs pop music, too. (He is a major collector of Beatles memorabilia.) And more domestic subjects, like his dogâs intelligence quotient; or the day he visited a nudist resort; or his adventures with infomercials.
One touching column pays tribute to the worldâs greatest Neil Diamond fan. Another tells of a man whose wife lost her wedding ring in a port-o-potty. Hoffman calls it, âa love story for Valentineâs Day.â
In a more serious vein, he writes candidly about infertility and how he eventually adopted a baby. Hoffmanâs style is colloquial, coaxing humor out of surprising juxtapositions and references to icons of pop culture. Whether heâs watching Seinfeld reruns or visiting the weirdest bar in Kenya, he remains clearly one of usâwith a skewed and highly entertaining view of American life at the turn of the millennium. And you can rely on his taste for cheeseburgers.
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