A few weeks ago I ranked the X-Men movies, and promised I would do some more superhero movies in the future. Let's do the Avengers movies, from best to worst.
If you recall, the ranking system was arranged so:
Green=excellent Blue=pretty good Black=Okay Red=avoid
Iron Man--The best in the Avengers franchise, and one of the best comic-based movies ever made.
Avengers--Hugely entertaining.
Captain America
Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier
Iron Man 3
Iron Man 2
Thor 2: The Dark World
Incredible Hulk (2008)
Thor--Feels like a TV movie. No sense of wonder at all.
Hulk (2003)--I give Ang Lee credit for trying to do something novel, but it really did not work.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Let's put them together and check out the master list of all comics movies I've rated so far.
Iron Man
Avengers
Captain America
Captain America 2: The Winter Soldier
X-Men 2: X-Men United
X-Men: Days of Future Past
Iron Man 3
The Wolverine
X-Men: First Class
X-Men
Iron Man 2
Thor 2: The Dark World
Incredible Hulk (2008)
Thor
X-Men 3: Last Stand
Hulk (2003)
X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Haven't seen)
_________________________________________________________________________________
This is a fun game, I'll probably put up another list in a couple weeks. I believe there are three franchises left to do (Superman, Batman, and Spider-Man), and numerous one-offs.
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Friday, July 25, 2014
What I'm Reading: Goya
Goya, by Robert Hughes, is a big, thick, beautifully-written account of Francisco Goya's life, with a lavishly generous selection of many dozens of Goya's paintings and etchings included. I first picked it up at a book sale, amazed that such a gorgeous art book would be available for under $10. At home, I thumbed through it a few times just to gaze at the pictures, then thought I'd see how the writing was. Well, the writing was great, and I couldn't stop reading it.
Robert Hughes's biography is thorough and well-balanced. He emphasizes Goya's humanism, his inspiration by the contemporary ideals of the Enlightenment, with special attention paid to just how much Goya might have known about those ideals in backwards Spain, where the Inquisition still did its best to keep out foreign ideas even in the late 18th century. His criticism of Goya's works is superbly attentive to detail and his explanation of the context for each work is clear.
Really, it's hard to find fault with any aspect of his writing--I suppose he might have trimmed some of his writing about the more peripheral figures in the story--a lengthy digression about Godoy, Spanish prime minister in the 1790s, for instance--but the details of Spanish history are so little known generally that even this is pretty helpful for most readers. On the other hand, there are a few figures who receive very little attention, such as Goya's wife, to whom he was married for 40 years. But that is due simply to the lack of knowledge about her. It seems Goya rarely referred to her in his letters, and other accounts of her are just not known.
One admirable aspect of the book is the way Hughes corrects various myths about Goya. For instance, his notorious The Naked Maja (also found in a clothed version), was most certainly not the Duchess of Alba, and although he was friends with the Duchess and perhaps even smitten with her, circumstances make it extremely unlikely they ever had an affair, as is often supposed. In fact, the painting was commissioned by Godoy, and is most likely a young mistress of his, probably with a generic face added to hide her identity. Nevertheless, the painting caused some trouble for Goya later when an Inquisition auditor found it in a warehouse after Godoy had fled to France, and Goya had to go in and account for his salacious representation of a naked woman.
When I was in college I took a course in Spanish art history, and for my end-of-semester essay I wrote about Goya's famous Third of May. I was glad to encounter the painter again so many years later, and delighted to revisit him with as knowledgeable and passionate a writer as Hughes. Any adult with an interest in art would find this book rewarding.
Robert Hughes's biography is thorough and well-balanced. He emphasizes Goya's humanism, his inspiration by the contemporary ideals of the Enlightenment, with special attention paid to just how much Goya might have known about those ideals in backwards Spain, where the Inquisition still did its best to keep out foreign ideas even in the late 18th century. His criticism of Goya's works is superbly attentive to detail and his explanation of the context for each work is clear.
Really, it's hard to find fault with any aspect of his writing--I suppose he might have trimmed some of his writing about the more peripheral figures in the story--a lengthy digression about Godoy, Spanish prime minister in the 1790s, for instance--but the details of Spanish history are so little known generally that even this is pretty helpful for most readers. On the other hand, there are a few figures who receive very little attention, such as Goya's wife, to whom he was married for 40 years. But that is due simply to the lack of knowledge about her. It seems Goya rarely referred to her in his letters, and other accounts of her are just not known.
One admirable aspect of the book is the way Hughes corrects various myths about Goya. For instance, his notorious The Naked Maja (also found in a clothed version), was most certainly not the Duchess of Alba, and although he was friends with the Duchess and perhaps even smitten with her, circumstances make it extremely unlikely they ever had an affair, as is often supposed. In fact, the painting was commissioned by Godoy, and is most likely a young mistress of his, probably with a generic face added to hide her identity. Nevertheless, the painting caused some trouble for Goya later when an Inquisition auditor found it in a warehouse after Godoy had fled to France, and Goya had to go in and account for his salacious representation of a naked woman.
When I was in college I took a course in Spanish art history, and for my end-of-semester essay I wrote about Goya's famous Third of May. I was glad to encounter the painter again so many years later, and delighted to revisit him with as knowledgeable and passionate a writer as Hughes. Any adult with an interest in art would find this book rewarding.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
What I'm Reading: Counting by 7s
True story: Under the "Taste Preferences" tab in Netflix, where you can review what sort of movies Netflix believes you like to see, my wife and I have earned a "never watch" in the categories of feel-good, inspiring, and sentimental. With that in mind, I have to say that the latest book I've read, Counting by 7s, a YA-novel by Holly Goldberg Sloan, comes perilously close to feel-good and inspiring.
I wasn't totally put off by the book; in fact, I enjoyed it overall, and there were parts of it I liked a lot. The main character is Willow, a 12-year old girl who is something of a child prodigy, able to pick up foreign languages in a few weeks and full of facts, though devoid of social graces. Her interests are plants, medical conditions, and the number 7. You can probably already imagine that she's not too popular at her middle school. Her only friend moved away the year before, and now she only has her plants and her parents. These are taken away from her in one swoop, when her parents die in a car crash, and she's thrust into the youth protection system.
Fortunately, she had already become acquainted with a school counselor after being accused of cheating on a standardized test (she'd gotten a perfect score, although of course she earned it honestly). This counselor, Dell Duke, is one of the worst school counselors in history, a self-involved loser completely uninterested in his students' lives or his job and with a private organization system that involves assigning each student who comes to him with the label of "oddball", "weirdo," "lone wolf," or "misfit." Another of Dell Duke's charges, Quang-ha, a high-school delinquent, and his overbearingly bossy sister, Mai, become involved in Willow's life when they search for Dell's runaway cat together.
If you guess that this unlikely group would somehow bond and change each other for the better, you are not on the wrong track. This goes down better than it might thanks to a large dollop of humor. I laughed out loud a number of times while reading this, and nearly every chapter has a situation or conversation that made me at least chuckle.
Nevertheless, I found the book somewhat predictable. Not any particular part of it, and there are some nicely zany and surprising moments, but the overall direction. Another thing that bothered me was a minor but recurring character that Willow meets, a taxi driver named Jairo. When she sees an odd-shaped mole on the back of his neck, she recommends he see a doctor, and it turns out to be cancerous and caught just in time. Their other encounters are similarly serendipitous, with the whole subplot feeling jammed in to show how special Willow is, rather than because it really serves the larger story in any way.
I cannot say this is one of those YA books I think a lot of adults would like, but I do think middle-schoolers would enjoy its humor. I found it clever and don't think it was a waste of time to read, but for me the author sacrifices plausible plot and character development, especially at the end, to shoehorn in an inspirational message.
I wasn't totally put off by the book; in fact, I enjoyed it overall, and there were parts of it I liked a lot. The main character is Willow, a 12-year old girl who is something of a child prodigy, able to pick up foreign languages in a few weeks and full of facts, though devoid of social graces. Her interests are plants, medical conditions, and the number 7. You can probably already imagine that she's not too popular at her middle school. Her only friend moved away the year before, and now she only has her plants and her parents. These are taken away from her in one swoop, when her parents die in a car crash, and she's thrust into the youth protection system.
Fortunately, she had already become acquainted with a school counselor after being accused of cheating on a standardized test (she'd gotten a perfect score, although of course she earned it honestly). This counselor, Dell Duke, is one of the worst school counselors in history, a self-involved loser completely uninterested in his students' lives or his job and with a private organization system that involves assigning each student who comes to him with the label of "oddball", "weirdo," "lone wolf," or "misfit." Another of Dell Duke's charges, Quang-ha, a high-school delinquent, and his overbearingly bossy sister, Mai, become involved in Willow's life when they search for Dell's runaway cat together.
If you guess that this unlikely group would somehow bond and change each other for the better, you are not on the wrong track. This goes down better than it might thanks to a large dollop of humor. I laughed out loud a number of times while reading this, and nearly every chapter has a situation or conversation that made me at least chuckle.
Nevertheless, I found the book somewhat predictable. Not any particular part of it, and there are some nicely zany and surprising moments, but the overall direction. Another thing that bothered me was a minor but recurring character that Willow meets, a taxi driver named Jairo. When she sees an odd-shaped mole on the back of his neck, she recommends he see a doctor, and it turns out to be cancerous and caught just in time. Their other encounters are similarly serendipitous, with the whole subplot feeling jammed in to show how special Willow is, rather than because it really serves the larger story in any way.
I cannot say this is one of those YA books I think a lot of adults would like, but I do think middle-schoolers would enjoy its humor. I found it clever and don't think it was a waste of time to read, but for me the author sacrifices plausible plot and character development, especially at the end, to shoehorn in an inspirational message.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
What I'm Reading: I Served the King of England
Bohumil Hrabal was a Czech writer who wrote during the Communist period. His works were considered anti-revolutionary, I suppose. In any case, I Served the King of England, which Hrabal finished in 1971, circulated in underground editions in the 1970s and was not formally published until 1983.
I Served follows the life of Ditie, who lives with his grandmother in a laundry as a boy and when he leaves home finds a job as a busboy at a hotel restaurant. He learns the art of waiting tables from the maitre d', an older man who's seen it all, and even once served the King of England. As time goes on, Ditie finds jobs at increasingly grand hotels, and finally he himself serves the King of Ethiopia at the finest hotel in Prague. It is in these jobs that he develops twin obsessions with saving money and bedding women, a way to make up for his lack of stature (he's under five feet) and his name (ditie means child in Czech).
During World War II, he woos and marries the German daughter of a high-ranking Nazi official, much to the disgust of his former colleagues in the hotel trade, who consider him a collaborator. His wife and infant son die in the final days of the war. With the money he's earned during the war he's able to buy a hotel of his own, only to see it taken by the Communists when they take charge of the country a few years later. After a period in prison with a group of millionaires accused of exploiting the people, he accepts a series of forestry and road maintenance jobs in the remote mountainous areas of the country, where in the quiet and isolation he comes to terms with his life and what is truly important.
Hrabal's writing is absolutely beautiful. Let me give you a little bit of the book, so you can see how gorgeous it is. In this section he is working in the prison kitchen where one of his daily jobs is to feed the pigeons.
"I had to come out of the kitchen on the stroke of two, and if for some reason the clock didn't strike but the sun was out, I would go by the sundial on the wall of the church, and when I emerged, all four hundred pigeons would swoop down from the roof and fly straight at me, and a shadow flew with them, and the rustling of feathers and wings was like flour or salt being poured out of a bag. The pigeons would land on the cart, and if they couldn't find a place they would sit on my shoulders and fly around my head and beat their wings against my ears, blotting out the world, as though I were tangled up in a huge bridal train stretching out in front of me and behind me, a veil of moving wings and eight hundred beautiful blueberry eyes."
This is one of my favorite parts, although the writing is this good on every page. In its minute observation of details he reminds me quite a bit of Marcel Proust, with the difference that Hrabal is much faster to get to the point. After all, the book is only a little over 200 pages and covers a lot of ground. He (or at least Ditie) is also much concerned with the attractions of the female form and the pleasures it can provide, so you might say Hrabal is like a shorter, naughtier version of Proust, which in my mind is quite a recommendation. I'm not sure this book is for everyone, but for those who are less interested in a rip-roaring plot and more in elegant, thoughtful writing with a strong erotic thread, this book is well worth seeking out.
I Served follows the life of Ditie, who lives with his grandmother in a laundry as a boy and when he leaves home finds a job as a busboy at a hotel restaurant. He learns the art of waiting tables from the maitre d', an older man who's seen it all, and even once served the King of England. As time goes on, Ditie finds jobs at increasingly grand hotels, and finally he himself serves the King of Ethiopia at the finest hotel in Prague. It is in these jobs that he develops twin obsessions with saving money and bedding women, a way to make up for his lack of stature (he's under five feet) and his name (ditie means child in Czech).
During World War II, he woos and marries the German daughter of a high-ranking Nazi official, much to the disgust of his former colleagues in the hotel trade, who consider him a collaborator. His wife and infant son die in the final days of the war. With the money he's earned during the war he's able to buy a hotel of his own, only to see it taken by the Communists when they take charge of the country a few years later. After a period in prison with a group of millionaires accused of exploiting the people, he accepts a series of forestry and road maintenance jobs in the remote mountainous areas of the country, where in the quiet and isolation he comes to terms with his life and what is truly important.
Hrabal's writing is absolutely beautiful. Let me give you a little bit of the book, so you can see how gorgeous it is. In this section he is working in the prison kitchen where one of his daily jobs is to feed the pigeons.
"I had to come out of the kitchen on the stroke of two, and if for some reason the clock didn't strike but the sun was out, I would go by the sundial on the wall of the church, and when I emerged, all four hundred pigeons would swoop down from the roof and fly straight at me, and a shadow flew with them, and the rustling of feathers and wings was like flour or salt being poured out of a bag. The pigeons would land on the cart, and if they couldn't find a place they would sit on my shoulders and fly around my head and beat their wings against my ears, blotting out the world, as though I were tangled up in a huge bridal train stretching out in front of me and behind me, a veil of moving wings and eight hundred beautiful blueberry eyes."
This is one of my favorite parts, although the writing is this good on every page. In its minute observation of details he reminds me quite a bit of Marcel Proust, with the difference that Hrabal is much faster to get to the point. After all, the book is only a little over 200 pages and covers a lot of ground. He (or at least Ditie) is also much concerned with the attractions of the female form and the pleasures it can provide, so you might say Hrabal is like a shorter, naughtier version of Proust, which in my mind is quite a recommendation. I'm not sure this book is for everyone, but for those who are less interested in a rip-roaring plot and more in elegant, thoughtful writing with a strong erotic thread, this book is well worth seeking out.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Ranking the X-Men Movies
Today, my son and I saw X-Men: Days of Future Past, based on a much-loved X-Men story arc from the 80s. It starts in the not-so-distant future, when robots called Sentinels have hunted down nearly all mutants on Earth, and the few remaining X-Men decide to send someone back to the past to change the timeline and prevent the Sentinels from being invented. The bulk of the action takes place in 1973, the year the future X-Men have decided is the critical time that needs to be changed. It's quite a spectacular film, and one of the better X-Men movies, but I'll get to that after a brief digression.
In the comics, the character sent back to the past was Kitty Pryde, who in the 1970s was a teen-aged girl. Because of her youth, she functioned in the comics as a device to allow the readers to follow the often convoluted storylines and keep track of the huge cast of recurring villains and secondary characters, by asking questions of the other, older characters. The answers filled in the blanks for her and readers alike.
But in the X-Men movies, Wolverine is the main character. Among the dominant teen-aged male readership of the X-Men at the height of their 1990s popularity, Wolverine was the favorite because of his tough guy persona and his retractable claws. The movie producers decided to make him the focal character for audiences, but had to tone him down, so now the emphasis is on how the once-violent man has learned to keep his bestial nature in check through force of will. Played by Hugh Jackman, he is much more sympathetic than in the comics.
Thus, the very questionable choice of changing the a fundamental part of the story, and sending Wolverine back in time instead of Kitty. Yet, I have to say it works. The movie makes up for it by having Kitty play the main role in facilitating the mind transfer that sends the future Wolverine's psyche to his 1970s body. Various other minor changes also help with translating a very "comic-y" storyline to the big screen, and the result is a movie that feels true to the original story but should entertain anybody who likes action movies, no real comics knowledge required. Although it might help to have seen one of the earlier films.
Here are the X-Men movies rated, from best to worst:
Green=excellent Blue=pretty good Black=Okay Red=avoid
X-Men 2: X-Men United
X-Men: Days of Future Past
The Wolverine
X-Men: First Class
X-Men
X-Men 3: Last Stand
X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Haven't seen)
Yes, none of these rated as excellent, but the top three are perfectly entertaining, and the next two aren't terrible. I may do future superhero movies ratings in the future, and the green may come into play then.
In the comics, the character sent back to the past was Kitty Pryde, who in the 1970s was a teen-aged girl. Because of her youth, she functioned in the comics as a device to allow the readers to follow the often convoluted storylines and keep track of the huge cast of recurring villains and secondary characters, by asking questions of the other, older characters. The answers filled in the blanks for her and readers alike.
But in the X-Men movies, Wolverine is the main character. Among the dominant teen-aged male readership of the X-Men at the height of their 1990s popularity, Wolverine was the favorite because of his tough guy persona and his retractable claws. The movie producers decided to make him the focal character for audiences, but had to tone him down, so now the emphasis is on how the once-violent man has learned to keep his bestial nature in check through force of will. Played by Hugh Jackman, he is much more sympathetic than in the comics.
Thus, the very questionable choice of changing the a fundamental part of the story, and sending Wolverine back in time instead of Kitty. Yet, I have to say it works. The movie makes up for it by having Kitty play the main role in facilitating the mind transfer that sends the future Wolverine's psyche to his 1970s body. Various other minor changes also help with translating a very "comic-y" storyline to the big screen, and the result is a movie that feels true to the original story but should entertain anybody who likes action movies, no real comics knowledge required. Although it might help to have seen one of the earlier films.
Here are the X-Men movies rated, from best to worst:
Green=excellent Blue=pretty good Black=Okay Red=avoid
X-Men 2: X-Men United
X-Men: Days of Future Past
The Wolverine
X-Men: First Class
X-Men
X-Men 3: Last Stand
X-Men Origins: Wolverine (Haven't seen)
Yes, none of these rated as excellent, but the top three are perfectly entertaining, and the next two aren't terrible. I may do future superhero movies ratings in the future, and the green may come into play then.
Friday, May 9, 2014
What I'm Reading: Roundup
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy So I got this out to see if my son would like it, decided at not-quite-9-years-old he's not ready yet, but once I started couldn't stop reading it myself. I haven't picked the book up since high school, but it's pretty much as I remembered. Ridiculous, absurdist humor as we follow Arthur Dent around the galaxy. Arthur is the last human left alive (or so he believes!) after the destruction of the Earth to make way for an intergalactic highway. The book is episodic in the extreme, with lots of lengthy asides (sometimes chapter-length) about the various alien races. As always, the answer to life, the universe, and everything is 42, and the most important thing you can bring with you when hitchhiking around the galaxy is a towel.
Hyperbole and a Half A graphic novel, or rather, a graphic series of autobiographical short stories, by Allie Brosh. This is probably the funniest thing I've read this year, quite a feat considering I reviewed Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy about 15 seconds ago. The tone is a little bit hard to nail down, but let's call it whimsically edgy. Chapters cover topics mainly relating to the author's dogs, depression, and childhood. Depression has never been funnier. Some sample chapter titles are "Dogs Don't Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving," "The Helper Dog is an Asshole," and "The Hot Sauce Debacle."
The last one is about the time when she was a kid and ate some really hot salsa. Never having previously exhibited a skill of any type, her parents reward her with more attention than the feat really deserved, and made a big deal about it at their workplaces. This backfires when her dad arranges a contest between her and one of his coworkers who really likes hot things.
Another good chapter attempts to clear up some misconceptions that her dogs hold, such as "I should eat bees." "Oh, no, why happening?" the dog thinks, as it eats yet another bee and is stung, yet again, on its mouth. The chapter also attempts to suss out why the innocuous vacuum cleaner is so frightening for her dogs, while the lawnmower is a source of fascination that must be investigated, despite the fact they make the exact same sound. If these sorts of things sound potentially funny to you, you'll definitely like this. If not, you should probably find something else to read.
Ursa Minor I picked this up at my local comic shop when the author and artist were there signing some of their work. Tom Hutchison was the writer and Ian Snyder the penciler. It takes place a decade or so in the future, when vampires, werewolves, faeries, and so forth have come out of hiding and revealed themselves to be real. As the story starts, vampires have infiltrated the highest levels of the US government and are using their political power to take over the country. Only a small group consisting of a witch, a were-bear, a stone golem, and a few others, recognize the danger, and decide they have to take the vampires out.
Amusing enough to read, but I have the let-down feeling about this the way I do when I start watching a B-movie and see that Roger Corman directed it. The problem with Corman is that he was too competent for a film he directed to be entertainingly bad, but neither did he have the budget, time investment, or possibly skill to make a truly good film. Similarly, Ursa Minor is well-done enough for what it is, but a book about vampires at war with were-bears is probably never going to be fine literature, and it doesn't quite have enough of the sleazy, hothouse atmosphere that's going to make something like this really work. The standard here is Conan the Barbarian (movie, comics, or original pulp stories, they all fit the bill) or the Heavy Metal movie. If it's not as over-the-top as any of those, it needs to go back in the pressure cooker.
Hyperbole and a Half A graphic novel, or rather, a graphic series of autobiographical short stories, by Allie Brosh. This is probably the funniest thing I've read this year, quite a feat considering I reviewed Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy about 15 seconds ago. The tone is a little bit hard to nail down, but let's call it whimsically edgy. Chapters cover topics mainly relating to the author's dogs, depression, and childhood. Depression has never been funnier. Some sample chapter titles are "Dogs Don't Understand Basic Concepts Like Moving," "The Helper Dog is an Asshole," and "The Hot Sauce Debacle."
The last one is about the time when she was a kid and ate some really hot salsa. Never having previously exhibited a skill of any type, her parents reward her with more attention than the feat really deserved, and made a big deal about it at their workplaces. This backfires when her dad arranges a contest between her and one of his coworkers who really likes hot things.
Another good chapter attempts to clear up some misconceptions that her dogs hold, such as "I should eat bees." "Oh, no, why happening?" the dog thinks, as it eats yet another bee and is stung, yet again, on its mouth. The chapter also attempts to suss out why the innocuous vacuum cleaner is so frightening for her dogs, while the lawnmower is a source of fascination that must be investigated, despite the fact they make the exact same sound. If these sorts of things sound potentially funny to you, you'll definitely like this. If not, you should probably find something else to read.
Ursa Minor I picked this up at my local comic shop when the author and artist were there signing some of their work. Tom Hutchison was the writer and Ian Snyder the penciler. It takes place a decade or so in the future, when vampires, werewolves, faeries, and so forth have come out of hiding and revealed themselves to be real. As the story starts, vampires have infiltrated the highest levels of the US government and are using their political power to take over the country. Only a small group consisting of a witch, a were-bear, a stone golem, and a few others, recognize the danger, and decide they have to take the vampires out.
Amusing enough to read, but I have the let-down feeling about this the way I do when I start watching a B-movie and see that Roger Corman directed it. The problem with Corman is that he was too competent for a film he directed to be entertainingly bad, but neither did he have the budget, time investment, or possibly skill to make a truly good film. Similarly, Ursa Minor is well-done enough for what it is, but a book about vampires at war with were-bears is probably never going to be fine literature, and it doesn't quite have enough of the sleazy, hothouse atmosphere that's going to make something like this really work. The standard here is Conan the Barbarian (movie, comics, or original pulp stories, they all fit the bill) or the Heavy Metal movie. If it's not as over-the-top as any of those, it needs to go back in the pressure cooker.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
What I'm Reading: Becoming Mr. October
So here's my baseball book for this year: Becoming Mr. October, by Reggie Jackson. I saw it on the New Arrivals stand at the library and picked it right up. Reggie gives us a few chapters on growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania, his college career at Arizona State, and his early professional career with Oakland, but the bulk of the book covers the 1977 and 1978 seasons with the Yankees, when they won the World Series two years in a row.
It actually works pretty well paired with Bill Lee's autobiography, which I read last year. Bill Lee was a pitcher with the Red Sox in 1978, that near-mythical season when the Sox and Yankees ended up tied for first place in the American League East on the last day of the regular season and had to play a tie-breaker. Not surprisingly, Bill Lee makes a few appearances in this book as well, although we're reading now from the other point of view.
One thing that struck me about both books is how badly the pitchers were handled. Bill mentioned Red Sox manager Don Zimmer refusing to adhere to a regular rotation, instead "saving" certain pitchers for key games, only to find they don't produce because they've had too much or too little rest. Similarly, Billy Martin on the Yankees would decide he didn't like a certain player's attitude and bench him (often without explaining why), and then pitch another guy on only three days rest. Or, he might yank a pitcher in trouble in the fourth inning instead of letting him work out of the jam, and send in a closer for the final five innings of the game (or more, in case of extra innings). Favored pitchers he would leave in for all nine innings, fine for one outing but hell on a pitcher over multiple starts. After half a season of this, most of his pitching staff suffered permanently sore arms or worse. Reggie mentions several great pitchers who never pitched the same after working on one of Martin's teams.
I have to wonder--was this typical? I mean, the Yankees and Red Sox were two of the best teams in baseball, and that's how they were treating their pitchers. I have to imagine lesser teams were even worse off. Or were the Yankees and Red Sox special cases, who managed to win despite the way their pitchers were treated? No way a manager could get away with that today.
Then too, Billy Martin comes off terribly in Reggie's book in general. I'm not sure I've ever read a positive account of Billy--even writers trying to be nice use euphemisms like "scrappy" or "feisty." Reggie describes him as downright mean, a drunkard who harbors secret grudges that he satisfies by trying to humiliate his players on the national stage. Apparently he had a special dislike for Reggie from the very first day that Reggie showed up at spring training in 1977. Of course Reggie, an outspoken black man who had to fight for every bit of respect he ever got, simply wouldn't put up with Billy and at times openly defied him.
Of course, Reggie was famous for speaking his mind, even boasting about his talents and accomplishments. It wasn't idle though--he was truly the best power hitter in the game! Four home runs in four consecutive at-bats in the 1977 World Series, and that's just for starters. I didn't realize that Yankees catcher Thurman Munson originally referred to Reggie as "Mr. October" sarcastically, but Reggie quickly picked up the phrase and wore it proudly.
He admits in the book that in retrospect, he wouldn't have said everything he did. He says he was naive about the media when he got to New York, as in Oakland there'd typically been only three sportswriters in the locker room after games and they'd had a strong respect for players who wanted to keep things off the record. In contrast, the Yankees locker room had dozens of sportswriters after a game, each looking for the best quote they could get and not above quoting overheard remarks, private conversations, or even subtly twisting their quotes to make them juicier. Reggie says now if he'd known how many hurt feelings there would be, he would have kept his mouth shut a lot more often. Quite an admission for a player who many thought at the time went out of his way to create controversy.
All in all, I would think this book would be of interest to any baseball fan. It's an entertaining story by one of the more colorful characters to ever play the game, playing on one of the best Yankees teams of all time.
It actually works pretty well paired with Bill Lee's autobiography, which I read last year. Bill Lee was a pitcher with the Red Sox in 1978, that near-mythical season when the Sox and Yankees ended up tied for first place in the American League East on the last day of the regular season and had to play a tie-breaker. Not surprisingly, Bill Lee makes a few appearances in this book as well, although we're reading now from the other point of view.
One thing that struck me about both books is how badly the pitchers were handled. Bill mentioned Red Sox manager Don Zimmer refusing to adhere to a regular rotation, instead "saving" certain pitchers for key games, only to find they don't produce because they've had too much or too little rest. Similarly, Billy Martin on the Yankees would decide he didn't like a certain player's attitude and bench him (often without explaining why), and then pitch another guy on only three days rest. Or, he might yank a pitcher in trouble in the fourth inning instead of letting him work out of the jam, and send in a closer for the final five innings of the game (or more, in case of extra innings). Favored pitchers he would leave in for all nine innings, fine for one outing but hell on a pitcher over multiple starts. After half a season of this, most of his pitching staff suffered permanently sore arms or worse. Reggie mentions several great pitchers who never pitched the same after working on one of Martin's teams.
I have to wonder--was this typical? I mean, the Yankees and Red Sox were two of the best teams in baseball, and that's how they were treating their pitchers. I have to imagine lesser teams were even worse off. Or were the Yankees and Red Sox special cases, who managed to win despite the way their pitchers were treated? No way a manager could get away with that today.
Then too, Billy Martin comes off terribly in Reggie's book in general. I'm not sure I've ever read a positive account of Billy--even writers trying to be nice use euphemisms like "scrappy" or "feisty." Reggie describes him as downright mean, a drunkard who harbors secret grudges that he satisfies by trying to humiliate his players on the national stage. Apparently he had a special dislike for Reggie from the very first day that Reggie showed up at spring training in 1977. Of course Reggie, an outspoken black man who had to fight for every bit of respect he ever got, simply wouldn't put up with Billy and at times openly defied him.
Of course, Reggie was famous for speaking his mind, even boasting about his talents and accomplishments. It wasn't idle though--he was truly the best power hitter in the game! Four home runs in four consecutive at-bats in the 1977 World Series, and that's just for starters. I didn't realize that Yankees catcher Thurman Munson originally referred to Reggie as "Mr. October" sarcastically, but Reggie quickly picked up the phrase and wore it proudly.
He admits in the book that in retrospect, he wouldn't have said everything he did. He says he was naive about the media when he got to New York, as in Oakland there'd typically been only three sportswriters in the locker room after games and they'd had a strong respect for players who wanted to keep things off the record. In contrast, the Yankees locker room had dozens of sportswriters after a game, each looking for the best quote they could get and not above quoting overheard remarks, private conversations, or even subtly twisting their quotes to make them juicier. Reggie says now if he'd known how many hurt feelings there would be, he would have kept his mouth shut a lot more often. Quite an admission for a player who many thought at the time went out of his way to create controversy.
All in all, I would think this book would be of interest to any baseball fan. It's an entertaining story by one of the more colorful characters to ever play the game, playing on one of the best Yankees teams of all time.
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