ZISK #22: $3, 7” x 8 ½”, photocopied, 34 pgs.

Not to paint with too big of a brush, but Zisk’s staff is populated by nerds who love baseball. I say that respectfully. The other scenarios—jocks who love baseball or dickheads who use sports fandom as a vehicle for abuse—have the bigger microphones and get more attention. But that’s where punk rock and zines come in and make things non-shitty. Zisk provides a safe zone to talk about baseball, even if you don’t follow it too closely. It’s in this non-commercial, fan-driven safety pocket that Nørb can cover decade’s worth of lower case, bicameral case, and all caps font usage on baseball cards. (I never saw the MB in the mitt of the Milwaukee Brewer’s logo before Nørb pointed it out.) Zisk is also decidedly from the fans’ perspectives, not googley-eyed over fame. Regular folks with regular lives who like to watch a small white ball get whacked around share stories about taking a friend of an opposing team to a hometown game. A father takes his ten-year-old (who knows far more than he about the Oakland A’s) and gets heckled in Texas. Joe Evans III discovers the joy of minor league baseball (and I’m still in disbelief they cannoned out quesadillas wrapped inside of T-shirts as a promotion). Peppered with great detail, recounted with a quiet casualness, I always look forward to a new issue of Zisk.